We Are The Warriors
by seasidewriter1
Summary: Artemesia and Steve have survived the second World War. They've awakened to a new world and are presented with new oppositions and new villains. Now introduced to the Avengers, they have to help save a world that is no longer familiar to them; not to mention they now have to figure out how to handle Tony Stark. Sequel to In The Dawn of Change. Steve/OC
1. A City Changed

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

_**Forword:**_ _**So, if anyone is new to this story, having just found it in the Avengers category, I will tell you that this is a sequel to my story In The Dawn of Change; I would urge you to read that before reading this! And if you're a returning reader… read on, my friends! Hope you enjoy!**_

1\. A City Changed

Artemesia Knoll, lieutenant and proclaimed superhero, stood in the middle of Times Square feeling very much like a small, ignorant child. People buzzed and bustled around her, adding to the wide-eyed daze she felt. The Square had always been dazzling and overwhelming, even back in the nineteen-thirties; massive signs had towered over citizens, lit with powerful, industrial lightbulbs. But now… in this strange, modern world, Art felt blinded by the dozens upon dozens of flashing, electronic billboards. It had been a month and a half since she and Steve Rodgers––the one and only Captain America––had awoken from their coma-like state.

Their introduction to the modern world had been rough to say the least. Times Square was only the tip of the iceberg. Phones were now both cordless and portable. There were things called computers and televisions. The televisions––or 'T.V.s'––allowed one to watch films or shows at home; they seemed to have replaced radios, which were hard to find except for inside of cars. People tended to buy things with rectangular plastic cards, a concept Art still couldn't grasp. Technology wasn't the only thing to change in the seventy or so years she and Steve had been asleep. But one thing that had hit close to home for Art was the changes made in the military regarding women. They were now allowed to be in combat; that was something she, Artemesia Knoll, had a hand in––or rather, her memory and legacy had. The legacy of Lieutenant Liberty. She was viewed just as Steve was––a hero; and that was beyond comprehension to her.

Art was bumped out her thoughts as someone brushed her arm as they passed her by. She apologized and then returned to staring up at the big signs that hung over her head. She was sure she looked like the most awe-struck tourist in history despite the fact she'd lived in the city her entire life. Commercials for movies or Broadway shows flickered across the screens and Art felt an uneasy shiver ripple through her body. The word 'modern' was a conflicted one. To her, modern was Polaroid cameras, records, and radio. But now 'modern' was small, cordless telephones, big screens, and fancy cars; and standing in Times Square made her feel so small in a city she once felt so at home in.

Her blue eyes fell shut against the harsh lights, and when they opened again, she cast her gaze to her feet, which were clad in a set of neutral toned Mary-Janes. Fury had called her in to talk to her about something they'd found through the many tests and trials S.H.I.E.L.D. had put her through. The headquarters for said operation were just of the Square, so she wove her way through the crowd and entered the unseeming building in the middle of the block. She nodded to the doorman who gave a solemn incline of the head in response. Art rode the elevator up to Fury's office, staring at her dull, warped reflection in the doors of the lift. Her hair had grown quickly, as it typically did, but it was now at that annoying length where she didn't know what to do with it; though, it seemed more common place for women to have shorter hair now.

Director Fury's office overlooked Times Square and the near constant hustle and bustle that passed through it. He was watching said crowds and traffic as the elevator dinged and opened to let Art step through. Turning around, Fury saw that the World War era soldier was dressed in a pastel pink dress, which was certainly a first; all of the photographs anyone had ever seen of her was from a time when she was still known as 'Arthur Kensington,' dressed in military regulation clothes or the uniform Howard Stark had designed for her.

"I never took you for a pink sort of girl," Fury commented as he sat down at his desk. Half of a smile appeared on Art's face.

"Yeah, well, all the pictures of me before and during the war were in black and white," she responded, standing beside the chair on the opposite side of Fury's desk. "May I sit down, sir?"

"Of course, Lieutenant." He gestured to the seat before he clasped his hands and leaned forward. "We finally finished your blood work… and finished analyzing the rest of your tests." Art watched him with all the seriousness in the world on her face, her knee bouncing in anticipation. He began rooting around in a desk drawer. "Turns out you and Cap don't have the exact same serum running through your veins," Fury said, slapping a report down on the table. Art's brows furrowed and her face composed itself in a look of confusion.

"Of course it is; Schmidt replicated the serum that––"

"_Exactly_. Schmidt _replicated_ the serum, meaning that when he made it, there was room for changes; and being a man of opportunity, he made some. You heal faster than Rogers. After all the trials we put you through we've also found you're more agile. Maybe that's just 'cause you're smaller than him, but given the fact that Schmidt was trying to make the ideal super soldier, it's likely that was a change made to the serum. Less muscle definition, still strong, but more agility. You and Captain Rogers are two different models of the same type of soldier, Lieutenant Knoll. And it'll do you good to accept that fact and play to your strengths," Fury went on to explain, sliding the file towards her.

Art flipped the manilla folder open as she shook her head, quickly scanning through the report with slightly narrowed eyes. There it was on paper. A comparison of her blood and Steve's blood; Schmidt _had_ made changes to the serum. One of the pages made a detailed report of how the antibodies in her system worked harder and faster, which essentially meant she healed at an abnormally quick pace. Like when she'd bruised and scraped her knuckles during the strength trials and they'd scabbed over before the day ended and healed by the end of the next day. She was just glad they weren't insisting they see how fast she healed things like broken bones or deep lacerations.

"I don't believe it…" she muttered.

"You also happen to have the worst case of trypanophobia our doctor's have ever seen."

Trypanophobia. The fear of needles. When the doctors had given her a series of inoculations shortly after she'd woken up, Art had gone into a panic attack, shouting and fighting against them. To her, the memories of Schmidt poking and prodding her with needles was fresh in her mind, as though it had happened the day prior. Art sighed and leaned back in her seat; she still felt horrible for shouting at the poor young nurse who had been trying to give her the shot.

"So, what now?" she asked quietly. Fury drew the file back towards himself and then fixed her with a decidedly impassive look.

"Go home. Move forward. Get used to the world you're living in; we'll call you if we need you."

OOOO

By the time she got back to the apartment she and Steve shared, the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon. The apartment wasn't anything fancy. There was a living room, a small kitchen, a shared bathroom, and two bedrooms. It had been furnished by S.H.I.E.L.D., and had been given all the basics technology wise. They had a television––which they barely used––a computer, a house phone, and both of them had been outfitted with a cell-phone. But they had also been given a record player and a radio, which they had more of a tendency to use. To be honest, the apartment looked like it had be taken right out of a housekeeping catalogue; Steve and Art had very few personal effects to put around the space. Most of Art's stuff had stayed with her family and probably sat in some storage crate somewhere. But the photograph of Kenneth––who was now seventy-nine and living somewhere in the city––that had been stored in her jacket pocket had survived through the year; it was now framed and sitting on her bedside table. The apartment was the most comfortable space for Steve and Art. It was their home.

Steve was sitting at their small kitchen table, flipping through a set of files he had flopped down on the table in front of him. There was a pinch between his brow and a peculiar down-turn to his lips, which was a look that Art had come to know far too well on his face. The transition to modern life had rendered them both confused and stressed. There were moments where they ran their fingers through their hair in frustration or felt nearly moved to tears at how they were unable to grasp at concepts that seemed simple to everyone else. Smiling was a rare occurrence for them now. Art kicked her shoes off and sat down across from Steve, resting her chin in her hand.

"Did you know that Howard Stark has a son?" Steve asked, looking up at her. Art's eyebrows rose at the news; it didn't surprise her. Howard was a charming man and women often fell for him fast. She only hoped he had found a woman who loved him for him and not because of his money.

"Really? I wonder if they're anything alike," Art pondered. A tiny smirk appeared on Steve's lips as he pushed a file across the table. Flipping it open, Art found herself staring down at the face of a man who bore strikingly similar features to Howard. A long, straight nose, dark hair, mischievous eyes, and impeccable facial hair. Beneath his photograph read: ANTHONY 'TONY' STARK. ALIAS: IRONMAN. Art shook her head and laughed. "I bet he's just like his dear old dad."

"He's a billionaire, a playboy, and an inventor," Steve pointed out with a chuckle, rising to get a glass of water. "I think he learned a lot from Howard. So, what did Fury have to tell you?" Art shut Tony's file and leaned back in her seat. She reached up and rubbed at the scar on her neck, where Schmidt had gouged the syringe into her flesh. When Steve didn't hear her respond, he turned around with worry etched on his face. "Art?" She seemed lost in the past again, her eyes unfocused as her fingers slipped over the circular, pink scar on her neck. Then her gaze brightened and she looked up at Steve, letting both her hands come to rest on the table.

"You and I both have the serum in our blood, _but_ mine was a replication… meaning there was room for change. I'm… more agile, strong but with less muscle definition, and I heal faster. What was it Fury said…? Oh, that we're 'two different models of the same type of soldier'..." Art put on a tense smile that she struggled to keep on her lips. The idea that she'd been changed against her will irked her, upset her. "So Schmidt messed around my genetics more than I initially thought. Oh, and I have a severe phobia of needles that will result in terrible panic attacks."

Steve tugged his chair around the table so he was able to sit next to her. He placed his hand atop hers, which were streaked with scars from battles past. The smile that she gave him was thankful but broken. Then he wound his arms around her completely, drawing her against his chest. Art's head dropped down against his shoulder, taking comfort in his embrace. One of the greatest frustrations about being so blind-sided by the modern era was the fact that they hadn't gotten the chance to explore the relationship that had just barely begun before the plane crash. They hadn't even been able to speak about it either; they couldn't talk about where it might go when they had to both figure out how a microwave worked and what they could and couldn't put inside it. But even through their inability to explore and speak, they knew that said relationship was still worth pursuing, and it was so much more special now.

"You're still you, Art; Schmidt can't take that away. You're just a bit faster now, a bit stronger. Trust me… you get used to it. You might even grow to appreciate it," Steve told her. "It _is_ the reason you're here today." He felt Art smile against his shoulder, a genuine smile that was surely as bright as the ones he'd brown to love all those years ago.

"It's what made me a 'superhero.'" Art drew out of the hug and gestured to herself with a smirk. "Lieutenant Liberty at your service. God, if Dugan were still around, I'd give him a right good punch for starting that name."

In the month since they'd been reawakened, Art had taken to reading a good number of books detailing what had happened in the wake of the second World War. She read an entire novel on the Howling Commandos, in which it discussed the origin of the name Lieutenant Liberty. Dugan had mentioned the lads had secretly been calling her said name since her raise in rank had taken effect. Once her true identity was revealed to the public, a great deal of drama had ensued; there were trials for dear Colonel Phillips and the real Arthur Kensington, who took the brunt of allowing her into the military. Amidst all the chaos, the nickname Dugan and the Commandos had so lovingly given her became a household name. Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty, fighting side-by-side to keep both the United States and the world safe. Her image adorned posters, comics, and she became a roll-model, just like Steve had.

"I like that name," Steve said, smiling brilliantly for the first time in weeks. "What was it the comic title was changed to after the war ended? 'The Adventures of Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty.' I'm sure Kenneth was thrilled to see his sister in the comics." Art smiled in remembrance of the young boy who sneakily read the Captain America comics under the covers of his bed. He had been _thrilled_ to find out his older sister was good friends with his favorite hero… and she wondered what his reaction must have been when the same sister was called 'hero' as well. What he thought of seeing her image right beside the Captain's.

"Maybe I'll get to ask him sometime," Art said thoughtfully. Fury had told her that she _could_ visit Kenneth, but it might not do her well to see him so soon after her return. The concept that her baby brother was now in his _seventies_ was something she hadn't been able to grasp yet; and then there was the fact that _he_ would have to grasp the fact his sister was actually still alive… and looking as young as the twenty-five year-old she was when she went into the ice despite the fact that she was technically ninety-five years old. "And _maybe_ he'll get to meet Captain America, too."

Steve smiled and placed his hand atop hers, which rested in her lap. His thumb swept over the pale scarring that veined across the back of her hand.

"I'd love to meet him," Steve said. "Say the word and I'm there. But, getting back to the subject of your newfound abilities… if you'd like help figuring it all out, I've been there before. I won't push you like Fury did, but I can help you."

Art leaned back in her chair and recalled the strength trial the Director had put her through a bit too soon after waking up.

"_Alright, with all the strength you can muster, I want you to hit the punching bag, alright?" asked the physician through the speaker. It felt as though she were a caged animal; she was being observed through a window as though she were dangerous and would snap at any moment––the only reassurance she had was that Steve was on the opposite side of the glass, watching with, as he would admit, interest. She adjusted the wraps on her hands and then faced the punching bag that she'd been told had some sort of… monitor inside of it that would measure the force she could pack in a punch. Sighing, she shook her head and lifted her hands. She'd never been taught to properly throw a punch like a boxer… but she'd socked some jaws in her day. Taking a few deep breaths she threw her fist forward and it connected with the bag, making it swing a little big._

"_Not hard enough," Fury's voice said through the speakers. Her body was still adjusting to being awake… and apparently having had its physique changed by that god-awful serum. "Again." She sucked in a deep breath and tried again, the punch harder. "__**Again.**_" _She swung harder and the bag twisted around in circles. She could still feel the impact buzzing down her arm. "__**Again!**_" _She turned and glared at the window before facing the bag once again._

_Art's breathing had become heavy and she did the only thing she thought to do to get the results that they needed; she glared at the bag and pictured it as the one person who had hurt and killed her friends, comrades and innocents. She pictured it as Johann Schmidt. His horrible red face, his glaring eyes, his intent to do evil. Memories of explosions and the smiling faces of her comrades came to mind; she saw her little brother, and she saw the Howling Commandos. She remembered Bucky, who had laughed and smiled and then had his life cut short when he fell from that train._

_The memories of her veins feeling as though they were on fire as the serum snaked through her body. How broken Steve looked in the moments before they crashed. Before she even realized it, a shout left her lips and her arm snapped forward; the punching bag swung harshly with the chains creaking. She threw another punch and then another and another, not feeling the wraps on her fists begin to unwind and not feeling the way that her knuckles began to bleed. When she finally stopped, the bag twisted and swung for a moment before the chain gave way and fell to the ground, with a tear in the center of the bag leaking grains of sand. Her heart was racing and her chest was heaving. She stared in shock at the fallen punching bag and stared down at her hand. Her knuckles were bruised and bleeding, the force of her punches having taken its toll. Something warm and wet ran down the side of her face. Lifting a hand, she felt tears escaping the corner of her eyes._

"_There we go…" Fury whispered to himself behind the mirror._

_Steve watched as she turned her face towards the mirrored window, tears on her cheeks and a churning mix of emotion in her eyes. A frown rose to his own face as her body spun to face the direction she was looking in, immediately snapping to attention as though standing in front of a row of admirals and generals._

"_Do I have permission to leave the training facility?" she asked clearly but shakily. Fury leaned toward a thin microphone and pressed a small red button, saying,_

"_Yes, Lieutenant, you do." He pressed another button with his other hand, a buzzing sound echoing through the room beyond the wall. "The door should be open now." Art nodded curtly and marched towards the now open door with her head ducked and her hands busily unwinding the rest of the wraps around her knuckles._

Snapping out of the memory, she turned to Steve and straightened her back with a playful smirk on her face. She held her hand to her forehead in a salute.

"I would be honored, Captain," Art told him. Chuckling, Steve returned the salute with a brilliant glitter in his eyes that Art had missed seeing. The glimmer of happiness.

"The honor is all mine, Lieutenant."

_**Afterword:**_ _**Woo! First chapter is done! I don't think it's the best I've ever written, but it was difficult to write and it's sort of just an introduction of showing what they've been up to. Some backstory to the name Lieutenant Liberty and a glimpse at what Art thinks about the time period she finds herself in.**_

_**So, as you can probably tell, we won't get to the Avengers for a couple chapters; so if there's anything you'd like to see Art or Steve or both of them do or be put into a certain situation, let me know! I've got ideas, but I'm open to more! I hope you guys keep on reading! Thanks again, you guys!**_

_**Also, to anyone who's wondering, I picked a face-claim for Art (finally) and it's Emelia Clarke. If any of you are interested I posted a few things with her as Artemesia on my Polyvore, which is linked on my profile page :)**_

_**~Mary**_


	2. Bang

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

2\. _Bang_

The day was warm and the breeze was cool, something that Art appreciated. She and Steve were taking a walk through Central Park, wandering the paths and stopping to admire various statues. They'd taken to walking around when they began to feel claustrophobic in their little apartment; not only did the fresh air do them good, it helped expose them to the advances of society. If the weather was particularly good, they might go for a run or do a spot of training in the park. As promised, Steve was helping Art hone her new found skills. They discovered she'd become quite the sharp-shooter, and some of the agents at S.H.I.E.L.D. remarked she and some fellow known as Hawkeye should compete to see who was the best marksman. The fact that she now rarely missed her targets was something that surprised Art. It had taken Bucky _weeks_ to help her perfect her aim, and even then she was still bound to miss at times.

"Do you know where we are?" Art inquired. Steve looked around the shaded path they walked along, trying to spot anything that might look familiar or help place where they were. His brows furrowed as he slowly stopped walking.

"No…" he murmured. Art laughed quietly and moved towards a nearby bench, smoothing the cloth of her skirt as she sat.

"The fearless Captain America, lost in Central Park. What's become of you?" she teased. Steve shook his head and sat down beside her, placing his sketch book on his knee. Drawing had been one of his escapes from the blinding quickness of modern life; he drew anything from simple sketches of the living room, to more abstract pictures that depicted how he felt in this new world.

"I could ask the same of you," he replied.

"Displacement," she replied to both her own rhetorical question and Steve's response. She reached for his sketch book and begin to skim through it when he didn't protest. Nearly three months had come to pass since they'd woken, and Steve had filled almost three sketchbooks in that time; he had a surplus of time and not much else to do. The one that Art held was his third. Art began to flip through the pages, eyes wandering over the work that he'd been doing.

One of the sketches was of an elderly couple, holding hands as they walked. Art had found it increasingly strange that, had her life gone as smoothly and naturally as anyone elses, she would be very, _very_ old. And Steve as well. They would have white hair, time worn faces, and one of them would probably have had a cane. They would have been able to witness the change of the world at its slow, innovative pace; and while things would have been difficult to learn, it would have been a lesser slope to climb than what they were faced with now. Then, of course, there was the question of what would have become of the two of them if life had allowed them normalcy. It was a question that Art often pondered when her thoughts drifted, thinking of a time that had long since passed.

One of Steve's most recent sketches was his own broad-shouldered silhouette standing it what could only be Times Square, the flashing signs arching over him in the caricature of a looming monster. It was a perfect representation of just how small they felt. Art let her fingers skim across the pencil marks, careful not to smudge anything.

"What do you think life would have been life if we didn't get caught in the ice?" Art suddenly asked, looking up at Steve. Caught off guard, Steve's brows shot towards his hairline; he wouldn't lie if he said he hadn't asked himself he same question when he couldn't sleep at night. He and Art hadn't quite had said conversation out loud, the subject having been too touchy for a very long time. But now it had been nearing three months and they'd realized that they were in the modern world to stay… and that going back wasn't possible for them. Whether they liked it or not, this new New York, this new world was their home. And the life they remembered… it was just a memory. Steve inhaled, catching the sweet scent of some flowering trees nearby. He wrapped one arm across her shoulders, prompting her to lean into him, head resting against his shoulder.

"I think… we would have seen the end of the war and would have celebrated it with the Commandos in some crowded pub. I think we would have come back to New York and I think we would have gone dancing. We would have tried to go dancing each weekend when we weren't busy playing with Kenneth or going out to the movies. And when summer came around, we would go to block parties together and… and I would have let you take the sidewalk when the lane got too narrow. I'd walk just in the edge of the street and hold your hand just in case you lost your balance," Steve said, a faint smile encouraging his lips upward. Art placed her hand atop his and smiled at the images his words conjured. He flipped his hand over so their palms met and their fingers could intertwine; Steve then kissed the crown of her head, eyes falling shut against the early afternoon sun.

"I think that I would have enjoyed that," Art told him, wanting nothing more than to tuck her feet underneath herself and keep herself curled into his side for the rest of the day. "We can still enjoy the movies, though; we've got… nearly seventy years of film to catch up on; and a television that we barely know how to use." Art looked up at him with a smile resting easily on her lips, an expression that he missed when it disappeared for too long. It was impossible not to return the smile, the muscles of his face relieved at the action. He still smiled seldomly, but when he did, Art counted herself lucky to see it.

"I guess we better find someone to give us recommendations, then," Steve said. Art laughed quietly and shrugged.

"I'm sure someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. would be willing to oblige." Steve let his chin rest atop her head fondly, smiling to himself. The thought of spending an evening in with Art, watching movies together caused warmth to spread through his chest. They had only ever been out on one event that could be called a date and that was, well, years ago; and such a thing hadn't quite been a thought that even passed through their heads as of late. But now as they were settling in––albeit, it was an uncomfortable settling––their thoughts were turning more towards the normal aspects of life; and a movie night didn't sound half-bad.

OOOO

Art had been in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility for about an hour and a half when her cell phone began to start buzzing incessantly. She had been shooting at targets when she was startled by the device, which had been slipped into her pocket. She drew it out and saw that the image of a battery with a line slashed through it flashed on the screen. When the buzzing didn't stop and instead continued to pulsate insistently in her hand, Art began to press at buttons with mounting frustration. Frustration soon turned to anger as the small piece of technology suddenly became the bane of her existence in that moment.

"Stop," she muttered. It kept buzzing. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me!"

With a frustrated huff, Art flicked the safety off her gun and tossed the phone into the air. Aiming quick as a whip, she pulled the trigger twice, piercing the device with both bullets. The now shattered cell phone fell to the floor, right at someone's feet. Art holstered her gun and placed both hands on her hips; she supposed she should feel embarrassed. But she couldn't bring herself to be. The phone had it coming. The man who walked in was sandy haired and wearing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s standard training garb; a quiver of arrows and a bow were slung across his back, and the arrows rattled as he bent over to grab the pieces of plastic.. He held up what was once an operational phone with a smirk tugging at half of his mouth.

"Nice aim," he complimented. "Shame you killed it, though; someone might need to call you."

"Well, I'm not acquainted with many people right now," Art said with a slight chuckle. She held out a hand to shake. "Artemesia––"

"Knoll. I know," he said, grasping the offered hand. "Clint Barton."

"A pleasure to meet you, Agent Barton." He chuckled and arched an eyebrow as he handed the remnants of the phone back to her. She pocketed them and made a note to tell S.H.I.E.L.D.'s tech director that she was down another phone.

"Pleasure's all mine, Lieutenant Liberty," Clint said pointedly. "And call me Clint; Agent Barton is reserved for the higher-ups and missions. Mind if slip in some practice?"

"By all means," Art said, gesturing to the bountiful unoccupied space of the room. She watched as Clint slipped his bow from off his back and began testing the tautness of the string. Clint Barton… why did that name sound familiar? She ejected the empty clip from her gun and slipped in a new one as she thought. Then, it came to her; Clint Barton was otherwise known as Hawkeye. "You know, some of the boys said you and I should have a shooting contest." Clint, now a target space away, looked over at her with arched brows.

"'The boys'?" he inquired with a chuckle. Art rolled her eyes and placed a hand on her hip.

"I haven't caught up on modern slang yet; till I do, I'll stick with what I know." Clint drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it, a challenging smile appearing on his face.

"A shooting contest, huh?" Art nodded, and Clint raised his bow and, keeping eye contact with the World War soldier, fired at his target. The arrow whizzed through the air and embedded itself perfectly in the center of the bullseye. Art let out a low whistle and nodded to the quivering arrow.

"Nice aim," she complimented, teasing at what he'd said to her when he first walked in. Clint then gestured towards her own target, silently insisting she demonstrate her skills. Art knew she couldn't fire at the target without looking; she wasn't _that_ good. She still had to concentrate in order to aim.

Turning towards her own target, Art leveled her sights and inhaled slowly to keep herself focused; once she was sure she'd lined up the aim perfectly, she shot, the recoil of the gun causing her arm to jolt. With a faint thwack, the bullet buried itself in the bullseye. Shooting twice more, the next two bullets struck just beside the first bullet hole. She turned to Clint who was nodding his head with his arms crossed.

"Might have to take you up on that contest, Lieutenant," he told her with an appreciative tone to his voice. Art smirked and swept an unruly lock of hair out of her eyes.

"Call me Art––or Artie––all of my friends do…" She paused and looked down at her feet as she corrected the tense of her sentence. "_Did_." Clint eyed her for a moment, noticing the sudden, slight downturn of her lips and the faint pinch between her eyebrows. He recalled being told that she and the Captain Rogers had been found buried in ice; S.H.I.E.L.D. had been abuzz for weeks, especially when they discovered they had both been alive. He couldn't imagine what the transition they were faced with must have been like.

"What you did, back in World War Two, it was impressive. Inspiring, even. Dozens of people, men and women alike looked––and still do––look up to you," he told her, drawing another arrow from his quiver. He nocked it and drew the sting back, aiming for only a brief second before he loosed the arrow. Art glanced over at him, watching as he narrowed his eyes to inspect where his shots had landed. "You fought the Red Skull and lived. You'll make it through this." He looked over at her, face composed in a rather serious expression on his face. "I promise." Art nodded to him thankfull, a genuine smile pulling at her lips.

"Thank you… Clint."

"You're welcome. We should take a week or two to get ready for that contest… invite 'the boys' to spectate."

Art smirked and lifted her gun, lining her sights up again.

"Sounds like a dandy idea to me," she announced. With that, the two continued on with their target practice, chatting whenever they took a break to stretch their fingers or shake out a stiff wrist. He was eventually called away on an urgent mission, which left Art to her own devices again.

Having had enough of just target practice, she decided to pair it with agility trials. Art shifted around and set up large metal boxes and crates that would serve as obstacles, and set up targets here and there. Fury had told her to play to her strengths, which she was still trying to pin-point and get used to; her aim was now impeccable, her speed was heightened, and she was about to see just how agile she'd become. With her back pressed against two crates, Art inhaled deeply and prepped her gun with scarred fingers. Then, whipping around and raising the gun, she fired at the first target, which was set up ten or so feet away. She dropped into a roll to dodge what surely would have been gunfire in a true attack, ducking behind a smaller, rectangular crate.

Pushing herself upwards, she fired over the top of the crate, the bullets hitting a target that was just barely peeking out from behind a different crate on the opposite end of the room. Keeping the gun in her right hand, Art pushed herself over her hiding spot with her left, legs swinging through the air; once her feet touched the ground, she was running. The air of the room whistled by her ears, tickling its fingers through her hair. Art's eyes were focused on a few sets of boxes organized to create a sort of staircase like formation. She leapt upwards and bounced off each crate, her toe catching on the last one, which caused her to fall flat on her stomach atop the final top box.

The wind was pushed from her lungs and she lay there for a moment, breathing hard with her forehead pressed against the crate top. In her head, Bucky's voice said _bang_. When he used to train with her back in the day, teaching her hand-to-hand combat or how to find cover, he would often play the role of the bad guy, his fingers held out in the semblance of a gun. If she was too slow, or made a mistake, he'd simply point his finger-gun at her and shout 'bang' to signify she would have been killed. Then, after being given instructions or suggestions, she would start over again. So she pushed herself up, she slipped off the tower of boxes and moved back towards her starting point.

Art redid the first half of her course and hyper-focused as she approached the spot she'd missed earlier. As she moved to leap to the top of the crates, she curled her legs inward and made sure she cleared the final box; she shot at her next target and then slipped from the organized pile of boxes, landing in a crouch. A new clip was slammed into the gun, the old one clattering to the floor. She kept her back pressed to the crates behind her before she slid her gun towards the next clearing, somersaulting after it. When she reached for the gun, which sat slightly too far away from her, she sighed and shut her eyes.

"Bang," she muttered.

By the time she finished the course, sweat was slipping down her temples, her shirt clung to her damp back, and she was sitting slumped at the end of her course. Art had emptied god knew how many clips and she had uttered the word 'bang' more than she would have cared to say. She was so unused to having enhanced abilities that she found she now over-shot a lot of things, or accidentally swung a punch too hard resulting in a headless mannequin. Half the crates were now toppled over and all of the targets were riddled with bullets. If anything, Art felt more frustrated than she had been at the beginning of the day. It felt as though she had to start over with the physical aspects of basic training. She was so used to being able to do so many things with relative ease, but now those things felt clumsy, like she had hit another growth spurt. Her limbs felt like thick, heavy rubber. Something told her to run faster, push harder; it was an instinctual urge that she hadn't felt before. Art, of course, knew it was the changes the serum had made, but it frustrated her to no end. And maybe––just maybe––she'd vented said frustration on a few of the crates, which now bared some severe dents.

Forcing herself to stand, Art holstered her gun and picked up the mess she had made, wondering if she'd provided entertainment for security, who had surely been watching her through the cameras installed in the ceiling. Art tucked the head of the mannequin she'd punched under her arm as she began to drag its plastic body towards the other side of the room. The door open and Steve stepped through, watching as she shoved the pile of plastic into the corner. Both of his brows shot upward. He'd come to see if she was done for the day, but he hadn't expected to see her lugging around a decapitated mannequin.

"Did it say something to upset you?" he asked, voice flat but words teasing. Art looked over at him and then down to the plastic head in her hands. The soldier shook her head before dropping the piece of plastic and sighing softly.

"No. I just… can't get a grasp on this whole enhanced abilities thing. Besides, the neck on this thing doesn't properly demonstrate the strength of a real human neck," Art told him. "I feel like a puppy who doesn't know how long its arms or legs are or how big its ears are. I _know_ I can clear bigger jumps than I could, climb quicker and all that jazz, but… I feel like I'm back at square one."

Steve crossed his arms as his brows pinched together, lips pulling down into a frown.

"Well, you _are_ back at square one," Steve pointed out. Art gave him a wry look that was thoroughly unamused. She threaded her fingers through her hair and then ran her hand across her forehead to wick away the sweat that had been beading on her forehead as she shook her head.

"Thanks for the words of encouragement, Steve…" she muttered. The captain shut his eyes for a moment and let out a slow breath through his nose. When he opened them again he found Art had sat herself down on a metal crate that had a rather sizable dent in its side, her foot propped up so she could retie the laces of her boot.

"I'm being completely serious, Artie. You _are_ back at square one, but at least you've been there before. When I was dropped into the tiny little cubicle of the enhanced abilities starting point, I hadn't even _reached_ step one before that point. I had only been the tiny kid from Brooklyn who could hardly throw a punch right. But you started there once, and you'll get through it again," Steve told her firmly, assuredly. He shrugged off his coat and draped it over the bench by the door. "I'm going to help you, Artie, I promise."

Art blinked at him for a moment, eyes slowly narrowing in suspicion. She hopped down from her perch and crossed her arms.

"Either seventy years in the ice addled my brain or I'm correct in assuming you wanted me to get this frustrated," she deadpanned. Half a smirk began to creep up the corner of his mouth as he turned his head to meet her gaze.

"Frustration causes good incentive; take it from someone who understands that concept _very_ well." Art shook her head, trying to make herself feel said frustration towards _him_… but she couldn't. In fact, the smirk that had crawled across his lips was rather endearing, and he looked rather satisfied with himself. Steve nodded towards the now unoccupied floor space. "Wanna get started?"

_**Afterword:**_ _**Saw Age of Ultron on Thursday… and I loved it! I know that some people weren't partial to it, but I had such a fun time and loved it so much! I had half this chapter typed up so I thought I would finish it up and post it! Once again, this story is a bit slow starting, but I wanted to explore Steve and Art in their new setting (which is harder than it seems). **_

_**Also, hope you liked seeing Clint in this chapter; I had been thinking that out of all the Avengers (excluding Steve), Clint would probably be Art's drinking buddy. I also just love him, so, yeah :) **_

_**Review Replies!**_

**weasleylover10:** _I'm glad you're so excited for the story; so am I! Hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**Kat7CA:** _Hope that this chapter is as exciting as the last one for you! Writing Art and Steve's reactions to the new world is so incredibly hard, but I'm glad it read well! And their dynamic is certainly getting closer, isn't it? Thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _They will visit her brother, which will be emotional, but I don't know when that'll happen (before the movie events or after… I'm not sure). And they'll probably visit Peggy just before Winter Soldier. I'm glad you're excited for the story! Thanks again!_

**MF 22:** _Thank you for pointing out the misspelling! I went so long in the last story not writing out Steve's last name that I blanked on how to spell it. And when Art learns out to utilize her agility and what not, it will serve her well in the final battle and what not. Hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!  
_**Narutoske:** _Their adjustment to the new world will take time, but they do have each other :) But they'll get to do lots of fun things once they get used to it all. Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _Hope you enjoyed the chapter! And super glad you loved Age of Ultron, which I have such ideas for! Thanks again!_

**XxXLuvtheOriginalsXxX:** _I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shika93:** _I'm glad the beginning read well, I was nervous about it! Thanks again!_

**andimcd2000:** _I'm honored to be one of your favorite authors! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks again!_

**TheRealTayler13:** _I hope you enjoyed the update! Thanks again!_

**CupcakeLoopy:** _I love the movie idea and alluded to it earlier in the chapter; I know exactly what movie they're going to watch and how both of them are going to react. So stay tuned for that! Thanks again!_

**thebreezekneeze:** _I was thinking of having Art run into someone else from the MCU, so that might happen. I'm also happy to hear that you'd been thinking of Emelia Clarke as Art; I think she fits her pretty well! Thanks again!_

**ShikaKibaShinoGal:** _She will definitely meet Coulson at some point, and it'll be endearingly funny. Also, I hadn't thought of her meeting Tony earlier on, so that might be an interesting idea to consider. Thanks for the suggestions and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

**lilnightmare17:** _Here's a new chapter! Thanks again!  
_**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _Hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**xXEndlessImaginationXx:** _I'm not going to put the events of the movie too far off, so we'll get there soon; I'm excited to put her into the Avengers story and write her interactions with the others. Hope you enjoyed and thanks again!  
_**Nik1804:** _I don't know when I'm going to have her see her brother again; it'll either be just before the movie starts or just after it ends, but we will hear more on his soon. And I had been thinking that Art and Tony's relationship might be a tad more friendly than his and Steve's, which'll be fun to write. I hope that you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**Guest:** _I'm glad that you love Art, and I hope you read on to see what happens! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _I'm glad you enjoyed last chapter and hope you enjoyed this one as well! And Age of Ultron was amazing! I've got ideas for that now too ;) Hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**hidansgirl1234:** _I'm glad this is in your top five fanfics! Also pumped to hear you agree with Emelia as Art :) Hope you keep on reading; thanks again!_

**LMarie999:** _Hope you enjoyed the update! Thanks again!  
_**oXxgeorgiaxXo:** _Cap is my favorite as well (I wonder if you can tell ;P) and I'm glad that you're enjoying the story and think write Steve well; sometimes I find him hard to capture, especially in the Avengers since he's a tad bit sterner than in the First Avenger. I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**patheticpisces:** _We'll get to meet the Avengers soon enough; can't wait to start the events of the movie. Thanks again! Hope you keep on reading!_

_**And thank you to those who have added this to favorite/follows; there are so many of them, thank you so, so much! It means a lot!**_

_**So, as I mentioned before, I won't make you all wait forever for the events of the Avengers; I'm thinking maybe another chapter or two? 'Cause I think there's probably… a year between Steve waking up and the start of Avengers, so I can jump forward in time and what not. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and sorry about its choppiness! Thanks again!**_

_**~Mary**_


	3. The Adventure Program

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art. Nor do I own the Captain America Adventure Program. That also belongs to Marvel and the producers of Agent Carter._

3\. The Adventure Program

Art took a shortcut through the park on her way home. She was heading back from the store, where she had bought a few movies that had been recommended by a small number of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who were all too happy to give Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty movie suggestions. One of said agents––a young man named Brian––had even written up instructions on how to operate their DVD player. The sky was turning a nice lavender as the sun crept towards the horizon and the air smelled of fresh grass; that was something that had stayed the same through the years. The smell of Central Park. Grass, flowers, and the watery scent of the fountains. People rode by Art on their bicycles and some whizzed by on what she learned were called 'skateboards,' which seemed to be popular amongst teenage boys. The park had quickly become one of Art's retreats when she became too overwhelmed, because there she could find some quiet corner under some shaded tree where she could keep to herself for a bit. Though her main escape had become S.H.I.E.L.D.'s training facility, where she was slowly but surely getting used to her enhanced abilities with Steve's assistance. Although, once or twice, she had gripped a mug too tightly, causing it to shatter in her grasp.

Art passed by a man who tapped a white cane in front of him as he walked; he wore a set of red tinted glasses that confirmed her suspicion that this man was blind, though from the pleased smile on his face, one would have thought he might have simply been smiling at the beauty of the sunset. She might not have thought much more of the stranger she passed had the soldier not spotted a smirking young boy who was holding a rock in his hand. The boy stuck his tongue into the corner of his mouth as his arm snapped back like he was about to toss a baseball. Just as his arm flew forward, the blind man spun around, and Art snagged the boy's wrist. He looked at her in surprise, having not even seen her lurch forward to grab his arm.

"It would be disastrously rude to throw that, don't you think?" she asked. The boy dropped the rock as Art released his wrist, her eyebrow raised in question. "Why would you want to do that anyway?" He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Art glanced over her shoulder to see that the man who had been the boy's intended target had come to stand just behind her. "Ah, no excuse. So, why don't you apologize for nearly hitting the man and get moving along?"

"Sorry…" the boy muttered before taking off at a jog, shoving the shoulder of his friends who were hiding behind a tree not too far away. Art turned to the man, who was smiling gently and casually leaning on his white cane.

"Thank you, that was very considerate," he said. Art shrugged and offered a quiet laugh.

"I don't take kindly to bullies, even if they _are_ only twelve years old," she told him. She recalled seeing him spin around in the corner of her eye when the boy's arm had lurched back and curiosity got the better of her. "You have such a good reaction time that one might think you weren't blind at all." The man chuckled and adjusted his glasses before sweeping fingers through his chestnut brown hair.

"When one sense diminishes, the others heighten. I've been blind since I was very young; I've trained my ear to pick up on the little things… like the disturbance of air when someone's hand cuts through it," he explained before offering her his hand. "Matt." She slipped her hand into his and smiled, hoping that even though he couldn't see it, he would be able to hear it.

"Artemesia," she introduced. He smiled as he shook her hand, his fingers gently curled around hers.

"A lovely name. I'll have to return your kindness sometime. If you ever need a lawyer, just ask around for Matt Murdock," Matt teased. Art laughed and brushed hair out of her face, noticing for the first time that he was wearing a well put together suit ensemble.

"I'll ask for no one else. Though, hopefully, I won't need a lawyer any time soon; but maybe we'll run into each other again and we can go for coffee," Art suggested lightheartedly. She was used to this sort of pleasant conversation, which didn't seem to pop up much in her everyday life anymore; and she was being sincere. Matt seemed like a good guy and she wouldn't mind having him as an acquaintance and then, maybe, a friend. Matt smiled wider and nodded his agreement.

"That would be nice. It was a pleasure to meet you, Artemesia."

"The pleasure was all mine, Matt."

OOOO

"_And now it's time for 'The Captain America Adventure Program,' brought to you by Roxxon motor oil. Tonight's thrilling tale takes us deep into the heart of the Ardennes Forest, where Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty begin their search for Betty Carver, the one-oh-seventh's beautiful triage nurse,_" said the voice of a radio presenter.

Art snorted as she stirred the pot of pasta that sat on the stove; 'The Captain America Adventure Program' had been popular in the years after the war. Betty Carver was clearly supposed to be Peggy, and Art was––quite obviously––Lieutenant Liberty, though they passed them both off as sultry voiced women who had a tendency to get themselves into trouble. Though, Art's portrayal was quite a bit better than Peggy's. Art's counterpart got herself out of trouble and sometimes had her own moments to shine in the action. Peggy's counterpart, however, tended to get into trouble and stay there. Apparently Art and Steve's growing romance had become public in the time after the war as well, and the producers of the Adventure Hour had a field day with it. Art had found recordings of said radio show on records in a local antique store, so she bought and brought them home to amuse herself.

"_We have to find her, Captain_," said the voice of the woman who played Amelia Stoll (which seemed to be their best attempt to match 'Artemesia Knoll') otherwise referred to as Lieutenant Liberty.

"_Don't worry, doll, we'll get her back from those Nazi bastards,_" said the man who voiced Captain America. Steve, who was standing beside Art stirring the spaghetti sauce on occasion snorted and shook his head.

"Because I'd call you 'doll' in the middle of a mission," he muttered with a shake of his head. Art laughed and leaned her hip up against the counter.

"_No one gets to mess around with my comrades and make it out unscathed; I'll make whoever took her see stars,_" announced Amelia with just a tad too much melodrama. Art winced and hoped to god she had never sounded like that.

"_And then I'll make them see stripes._" Steve and Art groaned at the same time, nearly looking physically pained at the dialogue. "_And then, once all of this is through, we can go out for a drink… just the two of us,_" said the radio Captain America, sounding over dramatically gallant.

"_Oh, Captain…_" Amelia sighed.

"If they thought we flirted that much while out on a mission, then their perspective is completely skewed," Art commented as she set her spoon aside and grabbed the pot of boiling water with an oven mit.

"I don't think you even have to look that deep into the story lines; if they think we _talked_ like that then they're already too far off," Steve said, brows pinching together. "'Make them see stars and stripes'... I don't even think I said that while on the show tour."

"And they used it as a flirtation device just now," Art pointed out as she poured the water and finished pasta into a strainer that sat over the sink. "How did people like listening to this?"

"Probably made them feel closer to their national heroes," Steve suggested. "Let them see into 'our' adventures and 'our' relationships."

"_Captain, take cover! Nazi soldiers are approaching!_" A series of rim-shots from a snare drum sounded to stand for gunfire.

"_Amelia! Get out of the line of fire!_" More rim-shots and some indistinct shouted German. There was a smacking sound, which they'd come to learn stood for punching or slapping. "_Get away from her, you lousy rat!_"

The 'battle' went on for a short minute or two with dialogue passing between the radio Captain and the leader of Nazi force who'd led the ambush. Steve and Art went about finishing dinner preparation, shaking their heads at the radio program.

"_Don't you dare scare me like that again, Amelia,_" said the Captain in his typical dramatic drawl. "_I don't know what I'd do if I lost you._" Steve glanced over at Art as she pinned her now jaw-length hair out of her face.

"_Then you better keep up,_" replied Amelia. Art smirked and looked to Steve, meeting his gaze; they stared at each other for a moment, ignoring the swell of romanticized music in the background.

"That's the most accurate piece of dialogue between 'us' that radio show probably ever wrote," Art commented as she made for the living room, shutting the record player off on her way to the couch. Steve chuckled and followed her, nodding his agreement. The radio show was filled with dialogue that made them wince, groan, and roll their eyes, but that short little moment was as close to accurate as they'd probably ever get.

The movie they'd chosen to watch that evening had been recommended by a little more than half of those they asked for suggestions. It was called The Notebook and had been referred to as 'the best date night movie' and as many others' favorite films. The film was set in the forties, which was interesting for Steve and Art, who got to see how their 'home time period' was portrayed in film. It was a love story between a country boy and a rich girl, brought together and then forced apart. Steve and Art would chuckle or comment on inaccuracies or at how something was portrayed, but found themselves engrossed in the film despite themselves.

They arrived at the most iconic scene of the film, a scene set on a dock in the rain. Art, having always been something of a hopeless romantic, found herself smiling as the two characters, Noah and Allie, found their relationship rekindled. The two kissed in the sheeting rain before the scene shifted to Noah carrying Allie into his home, her legs wound around his waist. Steve and Art watched with slightly stricken looks etched on their faces; the kiss scene wasn't simply a kiss anymore. It was going beyond the realms of what had been deemed proper in their day, edging towards seriously riské. Art had her knuckles pressed to her lips with her eyebrows raised and her eyes wide. Steve scratched at his temple, his hand shielding his face from Art as he did so. Neither of them said anything, but neither of them exactly moved to stop the film or look away. As both Noah and Allie ended up in a state of undress, Art felt heat rise to her cheeks and she risked a glance over at the man who sat beside her. He had a hand pressed over his mouth and she could just see a pinkish tinge to his cheeks. His head moved an inch, which allowed them to make make eye contact for an awkward moment before they both quickly looked away.

"So, uh, movies have clearly changed what's appropriate to be seen on screen," Art commented one they finished watching the movie. Steve exhaled sharply as he began washing off the dinner plates that she'd brought into the kitchen.

"You're telling me…" he agreed. "Can you imagine if they let that out back in the day? You'd have a line of complaints running the length of Central Park."

"Though, I do suppose it was a more accurate depiction of a moment of passion," Art mused, mostly to herself. The moment between her and Steve in the crashing plane came to mind, when they'd kissed just before they went into the ice. Steve stole a glance at her, rubbing his hands off on a dish towel; she was putting the dishes away, stretching onto her toes to reach the shelf they sat on. Their present topic of conversation disappeared from his head as he thought about that singular moment of happiness amongst the chaos and hell of their final moments in Schmidt's plane. Tucking the towel through one of the drawer handles, Steve smiled gently to himself and glanced her way again.

"You know, we still haven't gone dancing," he mentioned. Art laughed and looked at him over her shoulder as she fixed the way her blouse was tucked into her skirt. She caught eye of his smile and couldn't help but feel a tinge of curiosity as he moved back towards the living room. He stopped by the record player and began pursuing the albums in the box that sat beside it.

"Well, we have only just started getting used to all of the new technology and mannerisms and the way life generally tends to operate now. Also, people don't dance like we used to; nor are there any dance halls anymore," Art pointed out. Steve removed the Adventure Hour record and replaced it with one he had just selected, still smiling to himself. It was a soft look that Art loved, and one that she hadn't seen for a while.

"But we've got a record player, and we have this apartment," he said, setting the needle onto the circular piece of vinyl. It crackled for a second before the smooth, slow strains of jazz began to play. Steve met Art's gaze and his smile broadened. "It's our own private dance hall, just for the two of us. So, what do you say? Teach me to dance?"

A smile appeared on Art's face and she nodded, stepping forward to take the hand that he had offered to her. Steve licked his lips, which had suddenly become dry, and placed his free hand on the curve of her waist. After the couple stood there a moment, he took to following her lead, his eyes dutifully locked on their feet. He apologized each time he accidentally stepped on her toes, his lips quirking into brief, apologetic smiles. The soldier was concentrating so hard on getting the steps right that his brows pinched together slightly, a look that was incredibly endearing. A smile began to pull on his lips as the steps got easier and he found himself able to not look down at his feet the entire time. Art grinned and squeezed the hand that she held.

"It's not that hard isn't it?" she giggled. Steve returned the grin and shook his head, a strand or two of blond hair falling out of place.

"Surprisingly not," he admitted. Just then, he made a mess of stepping on her toes, wincing and chuckling at the same time. "I, uh, think I spoke too soon." Art shook her head and met his gaze, continuing to smile as they moved about the small space of their living room.

Steve couldn't stop himself from grinning as they moved together, gazes locked and smiles in place. It was like what he had imagined them doing all those years ago, what they hoped they would be able to do once the war had ended. It was so much better than he had imagined. To have her close and in his arms definitely seemed like a miracle. When Steve imagined what it would be like in this new world without Art, he found it heartbreakingly lonely, so empty and dark. She had an underlying optimism that one day they'd get used to it all, and that helped him get through the toughest days.

Steve's face slowly became more serious while he thought how lucky he was to have her with him, head bowing so their foreheads rested together. Art's eyes drifted downwards, towards his lips, just as his became trained on hers. They slowly stopped dancing as their mouths drifted closer together. Art's hand slipped up to the back of his neck, fingers stretching themselves into the hair at the nape of his neck. Steve then took the initiative, as Art had done once before, and kissed her soundly. It was tentative and sweet, almost as though the moment was a dream and any sudden movement might dispel it in a blur of mist. He thought back to the one other kiss they had shared, and he felt as though he couldn't have her close enough. Those memories reminded him of how close he'd come to losing her, how if she had escaped Schmidt a moment earlier, the serum might not have been in full effect and she might have been lost forever. His hand crept across her back, his palm pressed firmly against her spine, feeling her respond to the kiss by drawing herself closer.

The music that the record was playing became faint background noise as the two became caught up in the moment, focused only on each other. The kiss was longer than their first had been, especially seeing as they weren't plummeting towards their imminent death. It was the first kiss that they should have had, shared in a sweet, private moment that they reveled in. The kiss did eventually break, but their foreheads rested together gently, their eyes still softly trained on the other's lips. Their lips met again in a second kiss that held an increased degree of confidence. Art's fingers curled themselves around strands of his blond hair, her other arm draping itself around Steve's neck. There was a warmth between them that was indescribably comfortable, that made them want to stay that close forever, to never let that moment break. But when it did, the two simply smiled at each other. Art dropped her head to Steve's shoulder and shut her eyes, the two resuming to softly sway the the sweet strains of music around them.

_**Afterword:**_ _**I'll tell you that I initially was gonna make you all wait for them to kiss again… wait a VERY long time… but I couldn't bring myself to do that. Nope. I realized I just… couldn't. So there it is! Anyway, I'm super glad all of you seem to have enjoyed the first two chapters so much; it makes me so incredibly happy so many of you have continued to read this story!**_

_**Review replies!**_

**grapejuice101:** _Art and Clint are gonna be good friends, no matter what; as for other movies out side of the Capt. America ones she might appear in… I'm not quite sure, 'cause there is potential for her to show up in some of them. Thanks again!_

**Freddie4153:** _I liked Vision as well; he's pretty awesome. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Rubyia:** _I'll probably end up writing a chapter where it's Art and Clint having a night out drinking; probs post Avengers, 'cause I think I'll be fun to have them bitch about everything that's happened. And I have an idea about her tolerance for alcohol, but I'll definitely have to make a decision before she meets Tony, who will surely make sure she has a drink or two. I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _I'm super glad you've enjoyed the story thus far! Writing Art and Clint as friends is going to be so much fun; once she learns how to text properly I have a feeling he'll send her snarky little texts every once and a while. And I really hope I get to see Ultron again; I've still got friends who need to see it and I'm totally down for round two or three. I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**XxXLuvTheOriginalsXxX:** _I'm glad you're a fan of the Art/Clint friendship! And, if you would like to know about the Bucky rumor… he was not in Ultron (though it would have been awesome if he was). I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**patheticpiscese:** _I thought that Steve deserves to be a bit cheeky through all of the stress he seems to deal with throughout the Avengers what with dealing with all of the new technology and such. And I do plan on mentioning Bucky here and there, because he was like a brother to Art and he did have such a big impact on her. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _It'll be interesting when they see her brother; I might mention what he got up to in the years after Art's 'death' in the next chapter or two, because I've got ideas. And I'm glad you liked the bit with Bucky :) I hope that you enjoy the chapter! Thanks again!_

** :** _I picture Emilia Clarke for Art when I write her. I have a polyvore account where I've started to make sets based around her and such. I'm glad you plan on sticking around! Thanks again!_

**Kat7CA:** _Next chapter we'll see Art's progress in her training. I'm looking forward to seeing how I can write the skills I have in mind for her; and then it'll be fun to fit said skills in amongst those of the Avengers. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _Her competition with Clint will be next chapter :) I hope to get it up soon, 'cause I've got some free time coming up! And as the story progresses we'll see more of Art's battle-hardened side, much like what we see in Steve in the Avengers film. Hope you enjoyed reading! Thanks again!  
_**Alice Gone Madd:** _She has met Clint; and now Matt as well. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Narutoske:** _They'll do more exploring as the story goes on, and there will hopefully be some comedy there. And there will definitely be moments between Clint and Art; the sass will be real! I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**Princess Jaquline Chess:** _I'm glad you like the dynamic of Steve and Art's relationship. I always figured that when I wrote this story that, while Art is definitely frustrated with technology (like cell phones) she'd probably be the first out of the two that figured it out enough to use it at a reasonable functionality. And I do plan on mentioning things like nightmares and the such caused by the plane crash; some of that comes into play next chapter and also later on in the story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Shnitzel:** _Oh my god… StArt. I love that. I love that SO much! I've been waiting to see if anyone came up with a ship name for them and that is amazing! And I do plan on Art mostly keeping to her 40's fashion, but there will be a shift later on, as we sort of see with Steve. But she will keep to dresses and skirts and blouses in everyday life because that's probably normalcy to her. Wear more feminine clothes when she's not working and more uniform type things when she is. Oh, Art and Clint are gonna be one sassy pair! Regarding her Lady Liberty attire… I have an idea, I'm not so sure if it's a good one, but I do have one. It'll resemble what she wore as a Commando, slightly, but there will be differences now that she's seen as a hero. Oh, and I'll fit in cute StArt moments, don't worry. Even in the midst of battle I can get in a cute moment ;) I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**andimcd2000:** _I'm glad that you enjoyed the chapter! I hope that this one pleased you as well! Thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _I do have plans for them to go on a date… and I plan for it to be sweet and cutesy and full of charm. I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _Oh my god… Nerf wars… Clint and Art having a Nerf war would literally be the best! Ahhh, so glad that you said that! That will probably happen at some point, now. It would probably happen in Avengers Tower. Or SHIELD hq… or both. I feel like the whole team would go paintballing and form teams… and Art and Clint would take them all down. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**GaraZane:** _I'm glad you found your way to this story; it's honestly one of my favorites that I've written and I haven't felt more confident about an OC than Art in this one, actually. Also, very flattered that you enjoy my style of writing! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**BrittWitt16:** _Well, at least this story was only two chapters long when you decided to stay up and read it! I don't know when Art will meet Nat, but their relationship will be interesting to write/read. Especially since they've had such different experiences with their femininity––Nat utilizing hers and Art having had to hide hers––but they'll definitely bond over a lot of stuff and have some fun too. I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**margaery:** _Yeah, I figured that Art would definitely have a tough time adjusting to her new skills, especially since she'd never planned on gaining them. I also figured that their adjustment to modern society would obviously span the Avengers and beyond that as well, as we see with Steve's list in Winter Soldier. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**ShadowKitty896:** _I'm glad you've enjoyed the story thus far! Thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those who have added this story to their favorites/follows; it means a lot! And, gosh darn, there are a lot of you!**_

_**That's it till next time! We'll get to the Avengers soon, 'cause I figured––more realized, actually––that a lot of the things that I want to do with Art and Steve really involve them being more comfortable in modern society and that doesn't really seem to happen till post-avengers. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and stick around for more; you're all the best!**_

_**~Mary**_


	4. Planes, Guns, and Pints

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

4\. Planes, Guns, and Pints

Art startled awake with a gasp, heart pounding while her eyes flicked open, allowing her to stare up at her darkened bedroom ceiling. Sweat beaded her brow line and the room felt unnecessarily cold. While sitting up, Art rubbed at her neck, fingers ghosting over her scar, feeling a phantom sting just beneath the tender flesh. She had just woken up from the recurring nightmare she'd been having; albeit, she'd had it less as time wore on, but it still felt as real as though it had happened to her moments before. The groaning of metal still sat heavily in her ears, the cold wind seemed to still bite at her face, and the overpowering fear still gripped her heart. With a grunt, she pushed the blankets aside and made for the kitchen as she continued to rub at her neck. When she passed Steve's room, she noted that he was still curled up in his bed, the sky-blue duvet beginning to slump off the edge of the mattress.

Art's eyebrows pushed together tiredly and she glanced towards the kitchen clock, which read five past four in the morning. With a sigh, she shuffled her way into the kitchen and pulled a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it with water from the tap. Shutting her sleep deprived eyes, Art gulped down the water, which quenched the dryness in her throat. She reveled in the quiet of the apartment, which was a relaxing contrast to the horrors of her dream. Steve had mentioned that he, too, dreamed of the crash, and of those foggy days in the woods, weaving between trees as explosions bit at their heels. War wasn't pretty, it wasn't fun, and it left its effects on all those who participated. Art wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to step foot in any form of aircraft again without fearing it would simply put her right back to her former icy resting place.

Both of Art's trembling hands braced themselves against the kitchen counter and she straightened out her arms, head dropping to hang between her shoulders. Her breathing had yet to calm and her nose stung with tears she refused to shed. There was an unpleasant twist in her stomach, which made her nauseous and prompted her to breath deeply to calm the well of anxiety. It took her more than a few moments to calm herself, and when she did, the soldier made her way back into the living room, snatching up a throw blanket and a book that she was in the process of reading. The windowsill––her favorite reading spot––was cool, and the faint wail of sirens was oddly comforting. Art curled herself up on the sill's cushion and leaned her forehead against the cold glass. Her eyes tiredly began to read over the pages of her book, her mind swept off to a different time, a different place, and the troubles of someone else.

By the time the sun crested the horizon and the sky began to show it's blue expanse, Steve had awoken and made breakfast in the kitchen as quietly as he could. When he'd woken up, Art had been asleep at the window, her book open on her lap. The other times he had found her in such a position, it had been on the mornings after she'd been plagued with nightmares. So Steve let her sleep and went about making a meal for them both, figuring he would wake her up when he finished it. He threaded fingers through his messy blond hair and crept back into the living room, padding across the floor that creaked underfoot. Gently placing a hand on her shoulder, Steve shook gently, watching as she roused from sleep with a slight start. After looking around with a startled look on her face, she sighed and slumped against the window. Art tiredly rubbed at her eyes and looked up.

"Was it the dream again?" he asked as he took the book from her hands and set it aside. She snorted unhappily and let her head fall back against the windowpane as a response. Steve reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face; the brown locks now nearly touched her shoulders, which allowed her to style it as she once had with curls and pins. He smiled gently at her and nodded towards the kitchen. He sat on the edge of the window seat and wound an arm around her shoulders. Curling herself into his side, Art clamped her eyes shut and took comfort in his familiar embrace. He didn't say anything and neither did she. Steve simply rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head affectionately. They didn't _need_ to say anything; just knowing that the other was there for them was enough. Besides, what _would_ they say? But at least they were talking about it. They used to say nothing, deal with it on their own, crying quietly into their pillows to muffle the sounds of their sobs. They could comfort one another now, let each other know they were there for them. Art yawned against Steve's shoulder and pulled back, rubbing at her eyes again. He stood and nodded towards the kitchen.

"I made breakfast." Art yawned again and stretched her arms out in a childlike manner. Shaking his head with an amused smirk, Steve bent down so she could wind her arms around his neck. She'd expected that he would just pull her to her feet, but instead, he scooped her into his arms and carried her towards the kitchen. Not having the energy to protest, she let her head rest against his shoulder, eyes beginning to drift shut again. Steve chuckled and looked down at her, shaking her gently. "Hey, don't fall asleep; I worked hard on these pancakes."

Art's lips stirred up into a smile as she lifted her head again.

"You didn't have to carry me," she pointed out as he finally set her back down beside the kitchen table. Steve arched an eyebrow as he moved towards the stove to pick up the two plates of pancakes on the counter.

"I know you when you're tired. Remember the time you were so bleary eyed that Bucky managed to tackle you into a pit of mud?" Steve chuckled, setting her plate in front of her. Art shook her head and pushed her hair behind her ears. Of course she did; it had been one of the worst wake-up tactics that Bucky had employed in the time they'd known each other.

"Yeah, I was cleaning wet dirt out of my ears for hours," Art sleepily chuckled, picking up her fork. "The boys got a right good laugh out of it though."

"Speaking of tackling things, are you heading to the training center later?" Steve inquired as he sat down, directing the subject away from their fallen friend. Art nodded as she chewed on a section of pancake, glad for the distraction that Steve's choice of conversation topic had given her; and she supposed that, perhaps, that was what he was aiming for.

"I am. I have a contest to participate in." Steve's brows rose as he cut up his own pancake into pieces.

"Right, the shooting contest." He nodded and then smirked down at his plate. "I think you've got a good shot at winning."

OOOO

With her mind still swimming from the nightmare, Art loaded her guns while Clint checked over his quiver full of arrows. It was around noon and a few agents who had taken their lunch break were watching through the window that looked out into the hallway. They chattered quietly and some of them were making bets discreetly, reminding themselves of how much money they had in their wallets. They'd been, quite honestly, anticipating this moment for a good few weeks. They didn't really care who won––well, most of them didn't––they just wanted to see them go head to head. Clint was a sharp shooter, everyone knew that, but word had gone around that Art had quite the record for hitting her targets. That, and they wanted to see the famous Lieutenant Liberty do her thing, see her take action for the first time since the forties. They'd also probably had too much fun designing a simple, but effective course for the two to work their way through. Clint glanced over at Art, who had been quieter than usual, and nudged her with his elbow. When she looked at him, he raised both his eyebrows, a look of genuine concern gleaming in his eyes.

"You feeling alright?" he asked. She nodded and gave a dismissive nod. Honestly, she was; sure, the nightmare lingered like a bad taste in one's mouth, but she could live with it.

"Oh, yeah, just had a rough night. I'm fine, though."

"You sure? We could always put this off till a better day."

"I'm sure. If anything, this will help vent frustration. Unless _you_ want to put it off," she teased with a smirk. Clint chuckled, smiled, and shook his head; he slung his quiver across his back and made sure it would sit there tightly but comfortably, ensuring it wouldn't shift as they ran their course.

"In your dreams, Lieutenant. Before we start lets go over the rules again. We each have ten targets we have to shoot at; we get one shot per target. You miss––you miss. Mine have a purple center, yours are red. If one of us shoots the other's target, that's a deduction of one point."

"No pushing or shoving of your opponent or sabotage of any kind; that results in a two point penalty. I'm only allowed normal bullets, you're only allowed normal arrows. Nothing fancy… this time. Perfect kill shots––otherwise called a bullseye––are an extra half-point. No time limit because speed inhibits, but going slow wouldn't be any fun. Now. To our starting positions?"

They each stepped up to two 'x's that had been taped out on the floor; they were about two feet apart and a few feet in front of the line that marked off the beginning of the course, which was constructed out of crates and various other objects. Somebody had even put a bench in there just to trip them up. Clint tested the tension in the bow string one last time before turning his head to meet Art's gaze. She put her gun back into its thigh holster and offered a slight smirk. With a simultaneous nod, the two lurched forward.

Art leapt over her first obstacle, which was a wide trunk that was painted a militaristic green––an ammo carrier, undoubtedly, much like the ones she used to haul back and forth across camp. The minute her feet touched the ground again, she spotted her first target, which stuck out from the side of a crate. Her hand snatched her gun from its holster, flicking the safety off with her thumb. She fell to a knee and shot, having aimed with near immediate precision. Then she was off again, keeping her eyes peeled for more targets that had a red bullseye. Somewhere a few feet off she heard Clint clamour up a set of crates, his feet hitting the metal and the wood noisily. From his perch, he spotted his second target and drew the bowstring back, arrow easily knocked. Once it flew, he was off again, dropping back to the floor.

The pounding of Art's heart became a steady thrum that drove her to keep on moving, her head locking into a mind-set that kept her mechanically focused on possible threats and ways to make her shot. As the minutes ticked on, she picked off three more targets and nearly hit one of Clint's. She had been making leaps onto crate tops, dropping into roles, and ducking behind corners; the training sessions she had been having with Steve had definitely helped in letting her become accustomed to her new abilities. Abilities… she didn't have a taste for calling them that. But that's what they were. Increased strength, agility, et cetra, et cetra… the healing thing still skeeved her out more than anything else. _Bang_. Another target down. Five more to go.

Jogging forward, she rounded the next corner and found that Clint was kneeling down halfway down the next sort of passageway, leveling his sights. Her pace picked up and as she approached the marksman, she ducked her left shoulder and twisted her body around, which brought her into a roll right across Clint's back. He looked behind, startled at the sudden impact, but his hands held steady and his arrow didn't misfire. Art nearly immediately slid onto a knee and brought the handgun back up, aiming at the target she spotted a few feet off. She squeezed the trigger at the same moment Clint released his bowstring, the two moving on simultaneously. As Art ducked into a roll, her back slammed up against a crate so she could switch out her gun's magazine. The whole of the moment she found herself in seemed eerily familiar for a flicker of a moment. The crates she hid behind were suddenly a canvas covered military truck, the floor was mud, the targets were HYDRA soldiers, and Clint, who flitted about somewhere in the distance, was the cocky brunette sergeant that she'd once shared a tent with. Shaking her head to rid herself of that flash of memory––the day she and Bucky had been kidnapped by Johann Schmidt––Art stood to her feet lithely and began to climb a tower of crates. But as she climbed, she could only hear one voice in her head, one voice that was pushing her to go harder, chiding her as her toe slipped off the edge of a crate.

"_Come on, pretty boy! You can climb faster than that!" crowed Bucky, who straddled the thick wooden beam that supported the wall of netted rope. Art let her arms sag for a moment, catching the cool breeze that swept through the air. "Don't let a little slip get you down––literally. You've only got a couple more feet, c'mon! If I can do it, so can you."_

"_You seem to forget…" Art grunted as her quivering arms protested as she began to move again. "You have __**far**_ _more muscle than I do." Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes, looking like the king of the hill at the top of their obstacle course. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his dogtags jangling when his wrists disturbed them; both his legs clenched around the wooden beam and he stretched out his back, reclining backwards. He was just showing off now, Art thought spitefully._

"_Yeah, but you've got determination." Art's face scrunched together as she pulled herself up another few rungs, her muddy boots sinking into the sagging ropes that dozens of men had climbed before. Bucky put on a bored face and began to whistle, which then turned into a hum, then he began to sing. The tenor of his voice echoed into the sky, carrying over the camp. "__**Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again. It's been a long, long time. Haven't felt like this my dear, since I can't remember when, it's been a long, long time. You'll never know how many dreams I've dreamed about you… Or just how empty they all seemed without you… So kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again…**_"

"_Yeah, I'll kiss you," Art nearly growled as she neared the top. "Kiss you with my fist." Roaring with laughter, Bucky lurched forward and wound an arm around his stomach, using the other to steady himself. He wiped at his eyes as Art pulled herself up onto the beam, slinging one leg over it so she could sit atop it facing her friend._

"_Oh, god… Artie, you crack me up," Bucky snickered. He then reached out with a fond smile and patted his fellow soldier's shoulder. "And, see? You made it to the top. You've just gotta keep pushing yourself." _

"_Barnes! Kensington! This isn't gossip club, get moving!"_

Snapped out of the memory by reaching the top of the crate pile, Art dropped to a knee and withdrew her gun again. She kept it pointed downwards as she searched for her next target, which she saw just barely poking out from behind a mannequin. Art leveled her sights, shot, and swore when the bullet hit the mannequin's arm. But she had to move on. Otherwise, if this were a real fight, a real battle… _bang._ She'd be dead.

Once the two finished, an agent volunteered to get the targets and tally up the points; the final result was eight points to Clint and eight points to Art. A tie. Art had missed a target and only made two kill shots. Clint didn't miss a single targets and made four kill shots. They shook hands as the agents outside chattered excitedly.

"Feel like going out for a drink?" Clint asked as he began replacing the arrows into his quiver. Art considered the question for a moment. She had come to consider Clint a friend , even if they'd only known each other for a couple of months; she hadn't really gone out drinking with Steve since the two found the majority of this new world a tad overwhelming when they didn't take it slow. But, she supposed, it would be good for her to get out and do something different for a change, with someone who knew the ins-and-outs of the modern world, someone who was a friend. After considering all of this, she nodded with a smile.

"Yeah, that'd be great; have any places in mind? I… haven't really gotten out much," Art said with a small laugh. Clint nodded, a smile beginning to creep up his lips like he had a sly little secret he wasn't about to tell her. He slipped his bow over his shoulder and nodded just as the door opened and a certain blond haired captain walked in.

"I've got one in mind, I think you might like it." Clint turned his attention to Steve, who was dressed in street clothes with his hands stuck in his pants pockets. Just like Art, Steve's sense of fashion was still very much rooted in the forties; he took to wearing button downs that he tucked into slacks or dress pants, donning oxfords and securing a watch around his wrist. "You wanna come with, Captain?" Steve arched an eyebrow curiously.

"Come where?"

"Drinks. Artie and I were going to head out for some."

Steve slowly nodded, glancing briefly between Clint and Art. He'd met Clint a few weeks earlier, having watched him give Art some advice on shooting, and then see her give him some in return. He had to say he was proud that Art had pushed past the confusion and stress of the modern age to have found someone to call 'friend,' just as she had done with the Commandos way back when. It was something he had yet to do, make connections with those around him beyond professional ones like he had with Fury or Hill.

"I'm going to stay to exercise for a bit, but, uh, if you leave me the address, I'll join you when I'm done. Clint smiled and pat Steve on the shoulder, a friendly, brotherly gesture that made Steve think back on the friends he'd had in the Commandos. Such a thought made his lips quirk into a smile.

"Will do, Cap. I'll leave it with Clarke at the front desk," Clint said before turning back to Art. He pointed at her and then gestured to the door with a thumb. "Meet back up after we hit the locker rooms?"

"Sounds good," Art agreed. Clint made for the door and she turned to Steve, smiling at him as he surveyed the room.

"You did a good job," he informed, nodding to the obstacle course she and Clint had run moments before. "Bring you back to the 'good ol' days?' Raiding bases and taking down Nazis?" Art chuckled under her breath and nodded, placing both hands on her hips.

"Yeah, a bit. But it wasn't quite the same, you know? No returning gunfire… no life-or-death stakes… no Captain America," she teased, bumping him with her hip. As they laughed, Art started to back up towards the door. "I won't take up your time. See you at the bar?"

"See you at the bar." Steve reached out and caught her wrist, drawing her forward to press a kiss to the top of her head. Art smiled and let her eyes fall shut, stretching up on her toes to kiss his cheek. With that done, Art took her leave, working on tugging her hair out of its tiny ponytail.

OOOO

"I used to walk this everyday," Art said with a fond laugh. Clint chuckled and pushed his hands into the pockets of his black jacket, looking over at the World War Two soldier with a crooked smile on his face. They'd dressed back up in street clothes––something that they'd never seen each other in––and headed out, Clint giving out directions when needed. Oddly enough, Art found herself walking a vaguely familiar route, one that she took on her way home from work back in the forties. The sidewalks had been repaved and some of the buildings had changed, but she still recognized the route like she'd walked it yesterday.

"Yeah?" Clint inquired.

"Yeah. I used to walk home this way. The, uh, military hospital is back there somewhere… though, I don't know if it's still a hospital anymore. But I'd walk home this way and I'd stop by this one bar on occasion, if I had time or felt like I needed a break. It's where my whole military journey started, actually," Art explained as they reached the end of the block. "It was just around this corner… actually…" She trailed off as she and Clint stopped at the corner, her eyes fixated on a building across the street. Clint raised an arm and leveled a finger at the building that she was staring at.

"That the bar?" he asked. She nodded slowly, eyes wide. It still looked the same on the outside… "I'm afraid the name might have been changed, though." Art's eyes pulled themselves upward to look at the sign that wrapped around the corner of the building, displaying the establishments new name. It had once been named _Donoghue's _after the bar owner, but now it brandished something entirely different, entirely new. In gold lettering, all capitals, and rather large, the sign read: _Lieutenant Liberty Bar and Grille._

"Oh my god…" she muttered, a hand lifting to cover her mouth.

"Well, our drinks are getting cold, c'mon," Clint said with a bit of cheek, nodding to the bar they'd been staring at. Dazed, Art followed the archer across the street, still staring at the sign in awe. Clint held the door open and watched her step in with a small smile on his face.

Just inside the door there was a large, old, display case that was held together with mahogany strapping. There were pictures and trinkets inside, all of which stopped Art in her tracks. The first was a picture of herself, in military dress, smiling in trafalgar square; she'd sent that photo to Arthur––the real Arthur––at some point or another during their prolonged correspondence. Beside that was what looked to be two trading cards set into a picture frame. One of them was of Captain America, brandishing his shield, smirking, and saluting. Beside that was one labeled 'Lieutenant Liberty' in flowing cursive, with a drawn image of what she assumed was herself, smiling in her military uniform, her hair long and falling around her shoulders in curls. Shaking her head as various emotions roiled about in her stomach, her eyes were drawn to yet another photograph. Arthur had flown out to London once, before things got too tense and too dangerous, and spent a day with Art bumming around the city and talking about what the other had been doing. During that time, Art had Bucky take a photograph of them together, side-by-side. This was before anyone had known Art's true identity, so all the boys had just assumed that they were old friends. That picture, also carefully framed, sat on the top shelf, displayed proudly.

"Take a wild guess at who bought the pub," Clint urged, stepping up beside her. Art slowly shook her head, eyes skimming over tiny little toy soldier figures of the Commandos, over posters bearing her face and Steve's face, and a letter or two in her own hand writing. Finally, her gaze fell on one last photograph; it was Arthur, sitting at the bar with a proud look on his face, a drink loosely clasped in his hand.

"Arthur…?"

"The one and the only; or, should I say, the man who became equally as famous as the woman who took his name." Clint chuckled, nudging her with his elbow. Placing a hand on her back, he steered her away from the display case and brought her towards the bar. Art continued to stay in a shocked silence as she took in her surroundings. The bar's interior was just as she remembered it to be. "Arthur Kensington wanted to keep this place as pristine and preserved as he could."

They sat down at the bar and a rush of memories came back to her. Sitting there in her nurses uniform, taking a glance down the bar to see a fellow who looked far too nervous to be drinking alone. Being offered a suggestion that was highly illegal, incredibly stupid, and taking it. Arthur's smile came to mind and she smiled, glancing down along the bar where they'd sat all those years ago. Clint ordered two drinks of some sort––Art hadn't really been paying attention––and once they were placed in front of her, she shrugged off her coat and let it drape across the back of her stool.

"How're you feeling?" Clint asked after a couple moments of quiet. A crease had formed between his brows. She had seemed pretty stricken by the bar, and he wondered if it had been a good idea to take her there. There had been moments when they were training with one another that he noticed she thought she didn't deserve the recognition she got as 'Lieutenant Liberty,' didn't think she had as much as an impact as Steve had. Clint thought that showing her the bar she would understand that she _had_ made an impact, she _had_ inspired people, and she _did_ deserve the recognition. But maybe it was too soon, maybe she couldn't handle it right now.

Art gently turned her pint glass around on the bar thoughtfully and then she slowly began to smile.

"I'm okay. Pretty okay," she replied, smiling over at Clint. And she was. It was a shock to her system, but it was also strangely comforting. Comforting to know Arthur had been able to move on once the trials and tribulations were over post-war, to know that he had been okay. "So… is this one of your usual haunts?"

"It's close to headquarters and the service is good, so yeah, sort of," Clint admitted. He leaned forward on the bar and sipped at his drink. They lulled into comfortable silence before the archer eyed the scarring on both her hands. Her right was more severely scarred than the left, but both surely had stories to tell. Then there was the one on her neck, that only one that he could reliably guess where it came from. He had to admit, that when he was young, he had been quite interested in Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty… and he couldn't restrain the question he'd been wanting to ask her for weeks. "Mind if I ask about the scars?" Art's eyebrows rose and she looked down at her hands, stretching out her fingers so she could get a good look at them. A faint smile rose to her lips and she shook her head. She ran her fingers over the back of her right hand, which was covered in pale, satiny scar tissue, that wove its way across her fingers, knuckles, and the back of her hand. She held it up so Clint could get a good look.

"HYDRA had these weapons… they were powered by that cube Schmidt had––what was it Fury said it was called? The… Tesseract? Yeah, that. But, uh, I was escaping one of Schmidt's bases and a grenade went off and knocked an enemy soldier down just as he shot, which, low and behold, landed me with this. The guy didn't have good aim, anyway," she laughed before raising her left hand. Her smile faded as she stared at the single ribbon of a scar that sliced its way sharply across the length of the back of her hand. "Another HYDRA soldier for this one. My friend Bucky and I… we were… were were, uh, trying to find this doctor fellow, and got… got trapped in one of these train cars. I was shooting at the guy from around some crates and, bam, he got me."

"Bucky Barnes?" Clint asked, recognizing the name. Art smiled, rubbed at the scar, and nodded.

"Yeah. James Buchanan Barnes… Right joker, he was… but, uh, last scar," she said quickly, drawing the subject away from her fallen friend. Her fingers rose to touch the circular scar that made itself home on the curve of her neck. "Courtesy of Johann Schmidt. He stabbed me in the neck with a syringe of _the_ serum. The only reason I'm here, really, is because of him… that's the only thing I can thank him for."

"Well, here's to you, then." Clint said, raising his glass. Art laughed in confusion and let one eyebrow furrow while the other raised itself. "For pushing past adversity, Nazis, general assholes, and death itself to be here today. For inspiring many and being humble as _shit_ about it."

"And to you, Clint Barton, who has been unbelievably kind and the first person to bring me out for drinks since I woke up. I'm glad to call you a friend," Art said in returning the toast. Together, they knocked the rims of their pint glasses together and took a sip. But Art's sip turned into a gulp, which kept on going. Clint watched with raised brows as she downed the whole glass, setting it down and wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. When she looked over at Clint's surprised face, she just laughed and grinned. "What? I was in the army in the forties; all we did in our down time was drink. Besides, the pint glasses were larger in London. Also…" She raised her hand and gestured for the bartender with a sly smirk. She met Clint's gaze. "I've been told I can't get drunk."

Returning her grin, Clint chuckled and pounded the top the bar with him palm.

"Lets put that to the test then." He stopped the bartender as he took Art's glass to refill it. "And put it on my tab."

**Song that Bucky sings: It's Been A Long, Long Time by Harry James and Kitty Kallen**

_**Afterword:**_ _**Well, that was a long one, wasn't it? I just… felt like it needed to end where it did and cutting it in half wouldn't have done it justice. Also, I wanted to give Art and Clint time to bond, since I want their friendship to definitely be a thing throughout Avengers and the following movies. This is their first time out for drinks, and, if you're all interested, maybe the next chapter will pick up where this one left off, see what Clint, Art, and Steve get up to. **_

_**Review Replies!**_

**Rubyia:** _I decided if there was one other hero in the MCU that Art could feasibly run into out of nowhere, it was Matt Murdock. Also, I'd like to bring him in again at some other point/bring her into a Daredevil episode or two just to have some fun. I'm glad that you've been enjoying the story so far! Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _Yup, Daredevil it was! And I do try to make Art and Steve as cute as can be; I feel like they're one of the cutest couples I've written, especially since they've gone through some serious shit. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**patheticpicses:** _Art will soon meet them! I say soon, so I mean like… maybe a chapter or two more of tangent-y sort of stuff that I feel like I should write, them on with Avengers! 'Cause I've got no plot for these pre-Avengers chapter, they're just me exploring StArt in the new world. Hope you've been enjoying! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _I don't think I wrote the Clint/Art showdown as good as it could be, but there was one moment I loved in it that I just had to write and that was Art somersaulting over Clint's back. #YasArt! I think she and Nat will have an interesting initial relationship. 'Cause Nat is used to using her femininity as a weapon and such, and Art's been so used to having to hide it, so I think they'll have some interesting things to talk about, and maybe they'll help each other out with some stuff; a good friendship will form out of that. As for her relationship with Bruce… I don't know yet. I feel like they'll both feel like kindred spirits in a sense that they both have to deal with Tony and some other stuff later on, but I also think he'd be interested in the whole modified abilities stuff. Hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I'm glad you liked the radio show. The moment I heard it on __Agent Carter__, I knew I had to put Art in there somewhere. We'll be hearing from it again, trust me. I'm glad you liked the dancing scene. I figured, you know, that would be a great moment for their relationship to sort or rekindle itself in this whole new world for them. And Daredevil's cameo was just too fun to write, and there was so much more I wanted to do with it, but maybe he'll pop back up again. I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!  
_**soulsistersinaslan:** _Oh the whole PDA thing with them is going to be hilarious and awkward, especially once they meet Tony. They'll both be perfectly reserved about it, as I imagine they would be, but they might get back at those who tease them some time in the future ;) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Princess Jacquline Chess:** _I'm glad you've enjoyed the first three chapters! I have considered doing original work, and I do have a few short pieces that I've considered sending out to a journal or a magazine or something. And I've got an idea for a longer story, but I've got kinks to work out. I'm very, very flattered to hear you enjoy my writing style! Thank you so, so, so, __**so**_ _much!_

**runawaycherry93:** _Writing Matt was so much fun; and the kiss just sort of… happened, ahaha! Like I said, I originally intended for them to wait to kiss, but this just seemed like the perfect moment. I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**alphaminkus:** _MMMMMMMarried you say? Married they may be at some point. I mean, what, hah, I didn't say that… ;) But, yeah, I think they'd make a great married couple, especially since they already banter about like one. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _You guessed right! I'd love to bring Matt in again, for, like them going on a coffee break while he's interning at the law office and she's taking a break from training or something. Oh, and I'd throw Foggy in there at some point, too, just to make it funnier. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter! They really are cuties, aren't they? Thanks again!_

**asdgfhjk1292:** _I love the show and I couldn't not put Matt in this story. I'm glad you got the reference, it was a fun one to write! I hope you've been enjoying the story! Thanks again!  
_**weasleylover10:** _This story is too fun to write; I saw Avengers 2 for a second time and needed to get this chap out 'cause I'm far too excited to get to do all the other movies. Also, the ideas just flow so smoothly for this story! I'm glad it makes you happy :) I want to cuddle Matt and make sure no one ever hurts him. I also want to write him into this story again. I'm gonna do it; how, I don't know, but I will. I hope you enjoyed the chap! Thanks again!_

**BrittWitt16:** _Ahhh, I wish I could have seen your face when Matt came in! I wanna bring him back in, 'cause I feel like he and Art would have some great interactions. The radio show was too fun to write, and I had to figure out some cheesy vernacular to throw in there, so 'stars and stripes' it was! Glad that you enjoyed the cutesy kiss, I just had to! I hope you'll stick around for more; thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _Here's an update! Hope you enjoyed!_

**Alice Gone Madd:** _I dunno, her meeting Peter Parker could be quite funny… he just sorta runs into her and is all awkward and is like 'you look like a person in my textbook!' and she's like 'uhhhhh….' xD Oh, my god, what if she met Johnny Storm? WHAT IF SHE MET JOHNNY STORM WHEN CHRIS EVANS PLAYED THE HUMAN TORCH? Oh my god… I might have to do that… Thank you for suggesting that, even if it was a joke xD_

** :** _Yeah, I kinda thought about it and went 'Emelia is badass, and she looks badass in terminator, so, yeah, there we go.' Also, her face just… works for Art, I think. I already started on the Bucky Feels in this one xD You have NO IDEA how heavily Art's serum will play into that plot… no idea… and Art and Tony… ooh, what a roller coaster that'll be! I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**Guest:** _Avengers timeline will start up soon, but I have to give Clint some breathing room to make it to the SHIELD base to protect the Tesseract, hence why the contest was this chapter. I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _I have seen the full movie, and love it. I just knew that was THE movie for them to watch and get awkward about. Like… it was perfect for them. Oh, the Nerf Wars are totes happening, and when Bucky gets involved… oh, my god, it'll probably Bucky, Art, and Clint as a team. Thor and Steve would be bros for that. And, trust me, I'm queen at getting to far ahead. I already know what's going to happen in Age of Ultron and how Pietro will interact with Art. It's gonna be GREAT. I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**vampireadtic:** _I'm glad that you've been enjoying it so far! It means a lot to know that so many people enjoy my writing! Thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _Thanks! I've been working on kiss/romance scenes for a while ;) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Goldenfightergirl:** _I will have them visit Kenneth; actually, that might be what they do next chapter. Hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**The Four Tailed Fox:** _Thank you so much! With this story I was __**super**_ _hell-bent on making it seem realistic. Marvel does such a good job of making all their heros fit into a realistic setting, I just figured I needed to do it as best I could, and to hear that people think that Art fits in that well, makes me so incredibly happy. I hope that this chapter was as good as the others were, and I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**Cameo M. Wolf:** _I did put Daredevil in there. I love you, too 3. _

**stolethestarsaber:** _I'm sorry I made you so emotional so early in the morning! When I write emotional stuff for this one, I tend to be listening to Woodkid, so give that a shot whenever it gets all emotional again :) This really is one of the most feelsy stories I've written… StArt is going to do a whole lot, and I hope you stick around through the feels to read more! Thanks again!_

_**And to everyone who read and added this to their favorites/follows, thank you! It means a lot to me!**_

_**Also, guys… 68 reviews and I've only got three chapters up? You guys are literally the very best! Out of all the stories I've written (and I'm being serious here) I never thought this one would be so popular or the one I'm most driven to write, but it is! I just LOVE writing this story and cannot stop at all! Thank you all for being so supportive, it really does mean a lot to me. Also, thinking of writing a Pietro/OC story… thoughts, anyone? He's just… a beautiful cinnamon roll, too good for this world… 3 Thanks again, everyone!**_

_**~Mary**_


	5. Kenny Boy

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

5\. Kenny Boy

Clint was slumped between Steve and Art, his arms slung around their shoulders, his feet dragging across the ground. He was smashed; the only one out of the three that was drunk. Steve and Art had been practically dragging him across the city, knowing that should he attempt to go home alone, he would either get hit by a taxi, or he would pass out under some tree in Central Park. So they offered to take him––escort him, really––back to his city apartment, something which he denied till he tripped over the leg of a chair and knocked his head into the doorjamb. To be honest, it _was_ his fault to challenge the two super-soldiers with increased metabolism to a drinking contest. Now he was making remarks about how Steve and Art were stone-cold sober, and how 'un-fun' it must be for them.

"Guys, I have to get up _early_ tomorrow…" Clint sighed as they dragged him across a cross-walk. His head lolled backwards as they stepped up onto the curb, which his toe caught against, making him stumble. The archer groaned and scrunched his eyes shut. "I'm starting a _mission_ tomorrow… all the way out in… in… butt-fuck America… the middle of _nooooowhere_…"

"That's a bit harsh," commented Steve. Clint snorted and shook his head with quick, swerving movements.

"No, no, no, no, no, Cap. I'm serious. We're miles away from… from _any_ township… any county… any city. It's _legit_ in the middle of nowhere."

"I'm sure you'll be okay," Art said as she and Steve checked the addresses of the buildings they passed. They were nearly there, nearly at Clint's apartment. This time, Clint hung his head so it drooped between his already slouching shoulders. He made a sad sounding chuckle that was followed by a sigh and a wince that crinkled up the sides of his nose.

"My head's gonna hurt like a bitch."

"I'm sure it will," Steve chuckled as they pushed open the door to Clint's apartment building. It was a bit of a chore to get the floor number of his apartment out of Clint's inebriated head, but once they did, they hauled his increasingly sleepy form up the stairs. Whilst pausing on a landing, Steve shoved his hand into the archer's coat pocket and dug out his keys. This situation reminded him of many a time they had to drag one of the Commandos back from their London haunt, and, honestly, it made him smile a bit. Smile at the memories of Jim trying to be sneaky as they made it back to camp, of Bucky hanging off Art's shoulders, and of Gabe singing horribly off-key to the piano in the corner of the pub. Glancing over at Art as he freed the apartment key from Clint's pocket, he saw that she, too, was smiling to herself, and Steve had to wonder if she was also thinking about said moments.

When they finally got to Clint's apartment and pushed the door open, they were greeted with loud barking. Clint immediately withdrew his arms from the soldiers' shoulders and, with a scrunched up face, began shushing the golden lab that had rushed towards the door. Art shut the door as he staggered down to one knee, cupping the dog's face between both his hands, rubbing at his ears fondly.

"Shh, Lucky, shh; Steve and Artie are friends… don't bite them," he said, pointing to the dog sternly. As though truly understanding what he'd said, Lucky's tongue lolled out of his mouth and he began to pant, trotting towards the two soldiers in the apartment's threshold. "Good boy."

Art crouched down with a smile, holding out her hand for the dog to sniff. Lucky's nose twitched as he sniffed at her fingers, nuzzling them as he did so; it was then she realized his left eye was squinted shut, unlike his right which was wide open. She began rubbing at his silky coat as he sat down in front of her, accepting her as a good person and not a threat.

"What happened to his eye?" she asked, resisting the urge to laugh as Lucky made to lick at her face. Clint pulled an overly thoughtful face while rubbing at his neck, shuffling towards a well-worn sofa.

"He, uh, saved my ass from some… bozo bad guys. They… beat him and threw him into traffic and he got… got pretty badly injured. Broke lots of bones and lost an eye. But he's still the best friend a guy could ever have," Clint voiced, glancing over his shoulder. He smirked as Lucky knocked Art off balance and began to lick her face. Steve watched on with his arms crossed and an amused grin on his face as Art continued to laugh and ruffle Lucky's coat. "He likes you. If you want him to _reaaaaaally_ like you, feed him some pizza," he slurred. He fell face-first onto his couch, hugging a pillow to his face. Steve's brows pinched together and he snorted.

"_Pizza?_" he inquired. Clint's reply was a muffled jumble of syllables as he waved a lazy hand. Steve shook his head and nodded towards the kitchen, looking down at Art, who had finally sat herself back up and was scratching Lucky's chin. "I'm going to get him a glass of water. Want to try to get him to bed?"

"I got it," Art confirmed, pushing herself to her feet. She walked over to Clint's couch, which was pressed flush to a brick wall, and crossed her arms as she stared at the half passed out S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. "C'mon, Clint. Let's get you to bed." He made a muffled grunting sound and didn't move an inch. "Clint." Another grunt. Art looked down at Lucky, who sat by her feet, head tilted to the side. "Is he always like this?" Lucky started to pant as though answering her with 'yes.' "Well, then…" Art reached down and grabbed a fistfull of Clint's coat and shirt, hauling him upwards. He grumbled out some words that vaguely sounded like 'what the hell?' but they were too slurred to know for sure. Art ducked down and let him tip forward so his waist lined up with her shoulder.

Art hauled Clint off the couch, locking one arm behind his knees to keep him slung over her shoulder. As she made for where she assumed his bedroom was, she passed Steve, who watched on with an arched eyebrow and a glass of water in his hand. It was quite a sight to see Art carrying a man who was a good six inches taller than her over her shoulder; a very amusing, impressive sight.

"Need any help?" he asked as she passed. She shook her head and adjusted her hold on Clint, who suddenly raised his head, feeling very confused.

"Nah. I think I'm good," Art said, not even sounding strained. Clint looked over at Steve with scrunched brows, honestly expecting _him_ to have been the one carrying him. Steve just smiled and held up his hands innocently, laughing as the archer's gaze turned to Lucky, who watched on with a wagging tail. He mouthed the word 'traitor' at his dog, who simply sat down and let his tongue loll out of his mouth.

Art rolled Clint off her shoulder and onto his bed, his head sinking into his pillows. He groaned and worked on inching off his coat, vaguely aware that Art was tugging his shoes off for him. The sharp-shooter looked like a tired little kid trying to wiggle his way out of his clothes, but he eventually felt another set of hands––Art's––gripping the collar of his coat, assisting in removing it. He sighed out 'thank you' and then rolled onto his stomach, squinting at the time on the clock. It was five past eleven. He had to get up in five hours. Clint sighed into his pillow, eyes falling shut. Art placed a hand on his back and patted it once or twice with a smile on her face.

"Get some rest, alright?"

"Okay… thanks…"

"Anytime."

"I'll, uh… guess I'll see you when I… get back…" His words were heavy with sleep and inebriation, but Art still caught his drift and she nodded and made for the bedroom door.

"See you when you get back, Clint," she agreed.

"You're a good friend, Artie…" he enunciated more clearly. She paused in the doorway and smiled down at her feet, where she spotted Lucky, panting up at her with what looked like a smile apparent on his face.

"So are you, Clint."

OOOO

The day was cool, the sun was bright, and the wind was more of a gentle breeze. On this lovely, bright day, Art found herself pacing in front of a large brick apartment building, twirling her cell phone around in her palm. She kept glancing at the set of five steps that led up to the building's door, almost as though it would be the most perilous climb she would ever make. She had been contemplating doing this for the last week, and now there she stood after Clint did her a favor in return for helping him home that night five days ago. He got her the address and the apartment number and texted it to her; it was also accompanied with a rather joking text about how proud he was she was attempting to use her phone. But Art's heart was pounding and her nerves were rising up in her throat as she took a step towards the building and then retreated back another two steps. Art placed a hand over her eyes as she continued to pace.

Finally she stopped pacing, looking down at the phone in her palms. It took her a while, but she managed to compose a text message to Steve; the likelihood would be he would either attempt to respond or not respond at all, but he _would_ read it. She texted a short message and hit send before she pocketed the phone. The text read as such:

_Please come._

_Apartment 21b._

Climbing the steps, Art pushed open the door and stepped into the apartment building. The building was old and reminded her of the one she lived in with her aunt and her brother before she shipped off to go to war. She climbed to the second floor and then made her way down the hall, reading the apartment numbers as she went. Finally reaching the last door on the left, she came face-to-face with a set of shiny brass numbers that read 21b. The door was wooden and a bit scuffed up from years of traffic and tenants moving in and out. Art's heart began to pound and her fingers shook as she curled them into a loose fist. That fist tightened as she raised it, bringing it closer to the door so she could knock. Her knuckles hit the door twice as nothing but her pulse pounded in her ears. Art took a step back once she knocked, turning her back as she considered leaving. She had no idea how he would react to her being there. For all she knew he would slam the door in her face, which, quite honestly, was the reaction she was expecting.

"Hello? Can I help you?" asked a voice from the door behind her. Art tensed up and then turned her head over her shoulder, slowly turning to face the man in the doorway. A set of rounded glasses sat on the bridge of a long, straight nose, through the lenses of which peered a set of lively blue eyes. The man was old, somewhere in his mid-seventies, but there was a spryness about him, in the way that he leaned through the door, the way he stared at the woman on his doorstep.

Art immediately recognized Kenneth's eyes, the shape of his face, the way his brows slowly began to crease. They always furrowed in this one specific way, a way that made him look both sad and pensive at the same time, something that had always amused her to see on his face. He was tall, taller than she was; she'd always suspected he would take after their father, who had been quite tall himself. There were lines etched into his skin, leaving behind evidence of a life filled with smiles and laughter, which made Art's heart swell. That was the least she could have hoped for. That was all she had ever wanted for him… a good life… a happy one. Kenneth adjusted his glasses with wrinkled hands. and took a step closer, his face smoothing out as he realized he saw what he thought he saw.

"Artemesia…?" Tears gathered in her eyes and she clasped both hands over her mouth as she nodded. "Dear god… They had said they'd found… but they never said… I wouldn't have thought…" His stuttering words were cut off by a croaking sob, his arms stretching out towards his sister. Art wasted no time in lurching forward to wind her arms around his middle, her face landing against his chest. She didn't have the mind to ask who 'they' were or why they'd been calling them, all she could do, all she _wanted_ to do was hug her brother. It was a tight embrace that was nearly vice-like, but it was so loving and so welcoming and familiar that it could have been squeezing the life out of her and she wouldn't have cared. That was the hug she would have expected to get when she returned from the war; the hug from a smaller, younger Kenneth whose head just barely cleared her elbow. The thought of how young he had been when she'd last seen him brought a sob out of her throat, a sound that was muffled by his shirt.

Kenneth had his arms wound around her shoulders, and one hand pressed to the back of her head. Tears streaked their way down the sides of his cheeks, splattering against Art's shoulders and wetting her hair. They stayed there like that for god knew how long, just embracing and crying.

"I can't believe you're alive…" he said drawing back a step, ushering her inside to the apartment behind him. She laughed and wiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands, tentatively stepping into the place her brother called home.

"It's a shock to me as well," she assured him.

The apartment was well kept, unlike what his bedroom used to look like, but there was still that boyish touch to the decor. On one wall there was a large, vintage poster of two figures standing tall and proud––Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty. In various frames on the walls were the covers of various comics and even a couple of cards, but from a distance she couldn't quite tell what they were, but after seeing the display case in the Lieutenant Liberty Bar and Grille, she could only guess. The apartment felt homey, like she'd come home after a long journey. Kenneth seated himself on the couch and gestured for her to join him. Art quickly complied, setting her bag on the floor, kicking off her shoes and tucking her legs beneath herself. She simply stared at him for a long moment, a sad smile quirking the corners of her mouth. Reaching out, she brushed her fingers through the front of of his grey hair, sweeping stray strands of it off his forehead. Tears gathered in his eyes again as she placed her palm against his cheek. Not even the lines on his face could have erased the handsomeness of his features.

"I can't believe I missed so much…" she whispered, shaking her head slowly. Kenneth chuckled and smiled that brilliant, bright smile she would recognize anywhere.

"Would you like to catch up then?" he asked in a voice still thick with tears. Art nodded and smiled, letting her hand drop away from his cheek.

"Yes, I very much would."

Kenneth had gotten up to buzz around the apartment, gathering up photo albums and starting to make tea in the kitchen. Art took that time to wander around, looking at the frames on the wall she hadn't been able to see from the doorway. Sure enough, they were comic book covers. Some of them she vaguely recognized as ones she'd read to him once––The Adventures of Captain America––and some of them were the new versions made after the war entitled: The Adventures of Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty. She smiled to herself as Kenneth strode back in from the kitchen with two mugs clasped in his hands.

"I have to say… I… didn't picture you taking this so well," Art admitted, rejoining him on the couch. Kenneth nodded slowly and glanced at her from the corner of his eye, looking rather sly.

"As I'll come to tell you… I _was_ a member of S.H.I.E.L.D., whom I assume you've interacted with by now," he informed as he picked up a heavy photo album. Art stared at him, eyes widening, mouth falling open. "I still have contacts with a select few agents; they informed me they'd found you and the Captain in the ice… but they'd never said anything about you being… _alive._" Art could hear his voice begin to tremble again, so she shifted across the couch so she sat directly at his side. She took his hand between both of hers and watched as he carefully took his other hand and began to trace the scar on her left hand.

"Maybe we should start with that then."

Over the next hour, Art regaled her brother with abbreviated but still detailed story of how she came to be in 2012. Kenneth listened intently, and she wondered if the look he wore on his face was the same one he had worn while reading the comics and listening to the radio show. He was listening so closely, taking things in so well it was almost as though he were there in the moment with her. Art had brought along what few photographs she still had––just in case this was what would follow their reunion––and had spread them across the coffee table. She pointed out Bucky and Dugan and Falsworth and the like, remarking how close to family they were, how if she'd 'survived,' they'd all probably have met Kenneth. Of course, she also talked about Steve, how could she not?

"I have to ask…" Kenneth had said, picking up a photograph of her and Steve. "There was many a rumor about you and Captain Rogers being… involved romantically." Art had then nudged her brother with her elbow, feeling a bright pink blush rise to her cheeks.

"Well, at the time it was tentative, but, you know, that's what you get when you're disguised as a man in the middle of war-time," Art had replied. Kenneth nodded slowly, something that had made Art laugh. "Look at you, acting the role of the older sibling, being all protective." Kenneth had chuckled under his breath and put the picture down.

"You're still older… what are you, ninety-six, ninety-seven now? I just happen look my age. I'm also taller."

Once Art had finished telling her story, that she promised to elaborate on more during later visits, they began to flip through the many photo albums he had in his position. It felt surprisingly natural to be back together again, even if she was thrown off by the fact he looked so much older and talked the way she did, the way an adult did. More than once she'd heard him swear when he accidently bumped into something or cut his finger on an album page, the first few incidents she'd instinctively gasped and said his name sharply. They flipped through pictures of the years during and following the war, many of which didn't include Kenneth smiling. At his insistence, they'd glossed over her 'funeral' photos, an unmaskable pain in his voice. But when they got to the chapter of the albums in which he was in his twenties, Art grinned and laughed, staring down at the photographs in front of her.

"Oh, Kenneth, you're so handsome!" she laughed happily. The photograph showed him with dark, well-styled hair, dressed in a dapper suit with his glasses tucked in the pocket. A faint smile pulled at one corner of his mouth and a cigarette dangled between two of his fingers. "You _smoked?_ And Aunt Florence didn't kill you? I'm impressed."

"That was after I moved out, so she didn't get the chance to yell… much. It was a phase, but it got me through my military years," Kenneth remarked, staring down at a portrait of his younger self. He rubbed at his chin, on which he could feel some stubble starting to grow back in. He smiled at his bare-cheeked self, nodding slowly. "I suppose I was quite handsome." What had caught Art's ear, however, was the mention of 'military years.' He'd told her he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, though she was yet to find out how that came to be, but she hadn't suspected a military career. He had never been interested in that sort of stuff beyond reading the Captain America comics. But, then again, perhaps it was a pension he'd gained during the years she wasn't present. Flipping to the next page, she found evidence of said military life.

Kenneth was young in the photograph, no younger than eighteen, no older than twenty-five. A cigarette dangled between his lips and he wore a military green shirt, matching pants, and brown, mud spattered boots. He wasn't smiling and neither was the fellow who stood at his side. They each had a helmet dangling from their fingers, and it had apparently been bright enough to warrant them squinting into the lense of the camera. Heavy vests were draped over their shoulders and sweat clearly glistened on their foreheads; the background looked sparse and more on the tropical side. Similar photographs, some in color, some in black and white, filled the rest of the album. There were a couple of men he was almost always pictured with, so she figured those were his set of 'Howling Commandos' type of friends.

"You know, it's amazing how much respect you get in the military for being Lieutenant Liberty's brother," Kenneth mused with a slight chuckle. "There was no special treatment, but, uh, there was respect. Now, I'm not saying I wasn't a good Sergeant…" His voice trailed off as he smiled. "You and the Captain kept on inspiring us all, even thirty years after your deaths… or supposed deaths, I guess I should say."

A nervousness suddenly rose up in Art's throat, which she cleared as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You didn't feel… obligated to enlist… because of…"

"Because of you? No… not in the way I think you're thinking of it. I… following the years after the second World War, I often thought of what I could do that would make you proud and bring me closer to you… I missed you so much. So when the war in Vietnam broke out… I joined up… that was when S.H.I.E.L.D. got to me, asked me to join them, too. I was working more for them than I was the military."

Art rested her head against his shoulder, shutting her eyes for a long moment. She listened to Kenneth talk, to the tenor of his voice, and decided she was indescribably lucky. Worst-case scenarios had been playing out in her head all morning and the best-case scenario hadn't even occurred to her. _This_ was the best case scenario, right there, curled into her brother's side as he talked about his lovely, beautiful wife and their children. The moment was so amazing that Art had almost forgotten she'd texted Steve till there was a hurried knock on the door. Kenneth jumped in surprise and Art quickly made for the door, suddenly grinning.

"I, uh, forgot I'd asked someone to stop by," she said, reaching the door. She pulled it open to reveal Steve, who stood there with a worried look on his face. Kenneth immediately rose to his feet, staring at the man in the doorway wide-eyed. He slowly made his way towards the two, adjusting the fit of his glasses again. Art took Steve by the hand and pulled him inside, smiling brightly as she gestured to the older looking man before them. "Steve, I want you to meet my brother, Kenneth Knoll. Kenneth, I'd like for you to meet Steve Rogers… the one and only Captain America."

Steve glanced down at Art to check that she was okay, having listened to her worry over this moment for nearing two-days straight. She smiled back up at him, nodding once or twice to let him know it was all okay, that everything was good. She squeezed his hand and looked back to Kenneth, who was staring at them both in what was very easily interpreted as awe. Steve's eyes flicked over the man who stood before them, easily catching the similarities between the two siblings. The eyes, the nose, the shape of their faces… it was just so strange to think that Art was the older of the two, though she didn't look it. But none the less, this was the boy that she had told him so much about, the one who read comic books under the covers, who was the first to call her 'Artie' because 'Artemesia' was too complicated for a little one to pronounce, and the one whom she had a picture of every moment they were fighting the war. So the smile that rose to Steve's face was genuine, pleased to finally meet the boy he wanted to meet all those years ago; the one he hoped he would have played stick ball with in the street and played Captain America with trash-can lids and sling-shots. He extended his hand.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Kenneth," Steve told him, still smiling brightly. With a smile so bright, and so boyish that Art thought she saw him at eight years old again, Kenneth eagerly took Steve's hand and shook it firmly.

"The pleasure is _all_ mine, Captain. All mine. I… I can't believe that you're standing here," Kenneth laughed. Steve's smile stretched into a grin at his enthusiasm.

"Artie's told me a lot about you; nothing but good things. She told me you used to hide under the covers to read comics," Steve commented. With a grin, Kenneth launched into an unadulterated, enthusiastic, boyish rambling about how exciting it was to meet Captain America, leading Steve towards the wall of comic book covers. Steve followed willingly, listening to what Kenneth said word-for-word. Over his shoulder, Steve smiled at Art, who was watching from the couch with her own smile hidden in her knees, which were drawn to her chest. There wasn't a better day she could picture. Steve and Kenneth were chatting about this and that––most of it pertaining to the war and herself––and she felt like she'd finally reunited the whole of her family. But as Kenneth insisted she and Steve stay for dinner, as he smiled in a way that made her think he couldn't be any older than twenty, Art knew that no matter what, no matter how old Kenneth looked, he would always be her Kenny Boy, the little boy who read comics under the covers.

_**Afterword:**_ _**There you have it! Kenneth is back in the picture; and it was a hard scene to write. I had to decide how he would react and what they'd initially talk about and how to bring Steve into the picture and ahhhh, but it got done and I rather like it :)**_

_**Also, if any of you were in any doubt I was a Game of Thrones fan due to my making Emelia Clarke my face-claim for Art, guess who Kenneth's younger face claim is? That's right, Harry Lloyd. I've got some pictures up on my Polyvore if anyone's interested!**_

_**Review Replies!**_

**grapejuice101:** _Who knows, maybe she'll meet Spiderman. Or Deadpool. That would be __very_ _interesting. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _I have too much fun writing Clint and Art's friendship, I can just see them doing so much crazy shit together xD I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Goldenfightergirl:** _I hadn't actually given Arthur being alive any thought… I suppose he might be; that would be an interesting encounter for them to have… he'd be very old, though, probs in a nursing home. Hm… I'll have to think on that. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter; we didn't get to see the Art/Steve/Clint drink-off, but we can clearly see that Clint was the loser xD And I'm glad that you liked the pub, it was something I'd been wanting to do for this story since I started thinking it all up. I also plan on trying to put in more memories, because I feel like those are important to Art and Steve; especially since there's a __**huge**_ _period of time during the war I didn't write about. Also… Bucky feels. I love to write them. And I think the Pietro/OC story is in the works now ;) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _I really wanted to bring Arthur back into the story some how and I thought the pub would be a cool idea; she really did change his life, whether she believes it or not. And we'll see a bit more of Arthur in Winter Soldier (ha-hah! A teaser ;P). I have a feeling once Art and Nat become real good friends, no one will want to piss either of them off 'cause then they'll have to answer to the other one for making them upset. I love replying to reviews, it makes me feel closer to the people who read my stories, and I love getting to bounce ideas off all of y'all! I also love hearing predictions ;) Thank you again so, so, so much! You're lovely :)_

**tkczombiepe:** _Yeah, I want to sort of keep it a bit funny with her and Matt, should I draw him in again. I think it would be hilarious for them to each not know their friends with another superhero. And I've FINALLY got an idea of what I want Art's suit to look like, and I'm super excited to describe it. Thank you again, and I hope you've been enjoying the story so far!_

**Jo:** _Bruce would totally be the referee during the Nerf Wars… and secretly enjoy making the calls, ahaha! Also, I think we'll start up with the Avengers story line next chapter… Excitement! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those who have read and added this to their favorites/follows; it means a lot!**_

_**So, Avengers will start up either next chapter or the chapter after that. Probably next chapter, because I sort of touched all the bases I wanted to touch on pre-Avengers… I mentioned in this chapter that Clint had to go off on a mission (AKA protect the Tesseract), so I'd have to time lapse a bit, since he's on that job, presumably, for a while. Anyway, I'm thinking out lout (in-type[?]). So, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!**_

_**~Mary**_


	6. A Pleasure To Finally Meet You

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

6\. A Pleasure To Finally Meet You

Art was seated at a table in what had become one of her favorite café's, set just off the street that Grand Central Station sat on. She and Steve went there on mornings they didn't feel like cooking anything, or dropped by to get coffee some time in the afternoon. But she wasn't there with Steve today, and the pretty strawberry blonde waitress who sometimes flirted with him was on duty. She was, however, expecting someone else to show up. The other week she'd run into Matt again, and deciding to make good on their promise of coffee, he had dictated his phone number to her, and she'd put hers into his phone, though she did stumble around with it for a moment. He hadn't commented on it, which was something she was grateful for. So that morning, when she woke up to find Steve had popped off for the day after a restless night of unpleasant dreams, she called Matt up. It was sort of nice to know someone who didn't know her situation, know that she was supplanted from the forties.

Matt arrived, wearing a suit just like he had been when they first met; a helpful patron held the door open for him, exchanging pleasantries as he stepped inside. Artemesia walked over to the door with a smile, while saying his name to catch his attention. Matt turned towards her and smiled brightly, holding his cane straight as not to trip anyone.

"Artemesia," he replied in greeting. He held out an arm to her, much in the manner of a gentleman from a Jane Austen film. "I hope you wouldn't mind leading me to our table?"

"Oh, of course not!" Art replied, slipping her arm through his. Matt continued to gently tap the cane on the floor as she led him towards where she had been seated before, pulling out a chair for him before she sat down across from him. The waitress came over and poured Matt's stained porcelain mug full of coffee, asking them both if they wanted anything. Matt ordered a sandwich, Art ordered french toast, opting for a more brunch-like meal. "Are you on your lunch break?"

"Did the suit give it away?" he chuckled, letting his hands rest around the base of his mug. One hand wandered across the table, his fingertips dancing across the surface till it found the small saucer that held the little creamer cups. He snatched up two and made work of opening them, unaware that Art was watching the whole process with a fascinated crease between her brows. If it hadn't been for the glasses, the cane, and the knowledge that he, in fact, _was_ blind, she would have thought he saw just as well as she did. Or, better, even.

"Just a bit. And, I don't know if I thanked you earlier for agreeing to come out." Matt waved a hand before he touched the rim of his mug and poured the creamer inside.

"It was no trouble. I thought it would be a lovely chance for us to actually have a good chat. We've only ever run into each other before. Now, I have to wonder why it's this café you chose; you seem to be one for quiet places, this certainly isn't one of those," he said with a bit of a smirk. Plates were clinking, silverware clattering, chefs calling orders, and patrons chattering loudly. Art smiled and shrugged, leaning back in her seat. Honestly, she rather liked noisy places. She always had. Surprising, loud noises, however, were something she couldn't handle with grace anymore. More often than not a backfiring car sounded like a gunshot, and she'd reach for the spot on her leg a holster once sat.

"My beau and I come here for breakfast sometimes. Some of the best muffins I've had in a very long time," Art explained, stirring some more sugar into the remainder of her coffee. Matt's brows rose as he did the same, the spoon gently clinking against the inside of the mug.

"'Beau?' Don't hear that term used a lot anymore." Art scratched at the back of her neck and laughed quietly. She wasn't sure why but the term 'boyfriend' just didn't quite stick with her. Perhaps it was because she was used to only hearing 'beau' from her friends way back when, but it still stuck, and it still sounded right. But she made up an excuse anyway.

"I have a thing for using dated terms, some of them just seem to be the best fit." Matt nodded and lifted his coffee mug to his lips as the waitress came back. She held up the pot of coffee and gestured to Art's mug that was now only half-full.

"Would you like some more?" she asked. Art smiled up at her and offered a nod.

"Yes, ma'am." Once her cup was replenished and the waitress moved away, Matt arched an eyebrow curiously.

"Were you in the military?" he asked her. Art stared at him in surprise for a moment, the packet of sugar in her hand half-torn open. She laughed in disbelief and nodded before remembering he couldn't see said gesture.

"Yeah, I was. How… how did you know?"

The truth of the matter was that Matt could hear the dog tags hidden under the neckline of her dress jangling every time she moved. Dog tags made a specific tin-y sort of clatter when they bumped each other, especially when they didn't have the rubber bits around the edges; which Art's didn't have. He could also tell from her gait and the even weight distribution she walked with, or how when she stopped she often stopped in a stance that would easily allow her to be called to attention. But, instead of telling her that, he simply smiled and said,

"Vocal inflection––the way you said ma'am." There was that, too. Art bought it and nodded, chuckling to herself.

"I suppose that slips out every now and again doesn't it?" she laughed.

"Did you fight?" Matt inquired. It was clear what he had meant. He meant the war they were currently locked in with in the Middle East. He knew that Art knew that. But he hadn't asked if she'd fought in a specific war, or a specific operation, it was just 'did you fight.'

"Yes," she replied smoothly, easily. "I… It's been an adjustment coming back to New York. I, uh, spent some time in England, but when I came back here it all just seemed… so different. But it's getting better."

Matt could hear her heartbeat. It was the steady beating of someone who was telling the truth. It wasn't like he'd been actively been listening to hear of she was lying; he was just so used to listening for the fine-tuned sounds of life that he had just focused in on the heartbeat as she spoke, listening to its steady thudding. Little did they know they were both lying to one another on different fronts. Neither were quite being completely honest with the other. But he could hear something in her voice, a hidden pain that she hadn't been so good at hiding. He didn't bring it up, he had no reason to, but he could only assume that it had something to do with losing someone.

"Well, I suppose it's my turn to talk, huh?" Matt asked as he folded his hands on the tabletop.

They talked through lunch, getting to know each other better through snippets of stories and playful banter. Art found it refreshing to talk to someone who treated her normally, didn't ask her questions about the war, about 'Lieutenant Liberty,' or about how her adjustment was going. Their lunch break came to a close, however, when Matt's phone rang––with a voice that told him who the call was coming from––and his friend and co-worker reminded him they had a meeting to get to. So Matt paid for his half of the meal, apologized for cutting their meeting short, and made his way for the door. He paused before he walked away from the table however, turning back around to face her general direction.

"I'm sorry," he said. Art's brows furrowed in confusion, and a smile of the same emotion appeared on her face.

"For what?"

"About whoever it is you lost over there."

Art's smile slowly fell and her fingers curled into loose, uncomfortable fists. She didn't ask how he could have known she'd lost someone, she hadn't mentioned it… but she supposed his answer might be 'vocal inflection.' Or perhaps it was just a lucky guess. There was a loud clatter in the kitchen, which made Art jump, her right hand flying towards her thigh. When her mind stopped racing long enough to realize that it had just been some plates in the sink, she turned back towards Matt. Her eyes were glassy and her fingers were beginning to shake.

"Thank you."

OOOO

Breath pushed in and out of Art's lungs in steady intervals as her boot clad feet pushed her down the shaded path. After her brunch with Matt, she'd been left in a considerably downtrodden mood. That was how she found herself going for a run through Central Park with Lucky at her heels; she'd agreed to look after him while Clint was off on his assignment and allowed the retriever to live with her and Steve for the time being. The one-eyed dog had laid claim to an armchair in the living room and remained calm and cooperative for the most part. On bad days, Lucky would stay at Art or Steve's side, gently resting his head in their laps or curling up at their feet to comfort them. Such was one of the reasons Art became further endeared with the dog, and she hadn't been able to make it out the door after changing into her exercise clothing without Lucky at her side.

As she ran, the dog tags around her neck rattled against her chest. One of the oblong pieces of metal had her name imprinted into it––or, rather, 'Arthur Kensington,' which was as much her name as Artemesia was––and the other had 'James Buchanan Barnes' stamped into it. She had known that Matt hadn't meant to bring up anything painful, but any vague mention of Bucky caused a sharp sting to slice through her chest. As she wove her way through the park with Lucky at her heels, the corners of her vision blurred and her path didn't seem to be the one she'd been running moments before. The trees around her seemed to gradually grow taller, the lighting dimmer, the air cooler. Shadows lunged and darted about the corners of her eyes, and she suddenly found herself back in the misty forests of Europe, running alongside all of her fellow Commandos as they charged a battalion of HYDRA agents. Somewhere in the distance she could have sworn she heard Steve shouting orders while the ground shook with what could only be an explosion. Dirt was sprayed across the landscape and flecked her cheek. Her hands seemed to be wrapped around her rifle, ready to shoot when necessary. Gunfire cut through the air and words blended together in unintelligible mushes. Art slowed to a stop, however, as five words in a different language began to echo through her ears on a loop. _Gehorcht mir, mein weibliche krieger… gehorcht mir, mein weibliche krieger… gehorcht mir, mein weibliche krieger… _Art stumbled to a stop, heart pounding so hard and so fast that its sound, along with Schmidt's words were the only things she could hear. Both of her hands rose to clamp themselves over her ears, eyes squinting shut against the scene before her. _Gehorcht mir, mein weibliche krieger…_

Barking suddenly cut through the flashback like a knife, and, with a sharp inhale, Art's eyes flew open. She was back in sunny, non-combative, modern-day Central Park, with Lucky standing before her, staring at the soldier with his one good eye. Art's body was trembling and her eyes were stinging with unshed tears. Turning on her heel, she wandered off the path she'd been jogging down and sat herself down in a patch of shady grass. That German phrase had haunted her dreams for months; she finally took it upon herself to find out just exactly it meant, and once she had, the words were all the more terrible. 'Obey me, my female warrior.' That was what Schmidt had been telling her, calling her, demanding of her. The words _gehorcht mir_ made her go rigid and immediately stop whatever it was she was doing. That phrase had been embedded into her mind, for what purpose she had no clue, but it was there, it had stuck, and it haunted her.

Lucky trotted over to her and started to enthusiastically lick her face as though he were comforting her, wicking away the few tears that had slipped from the corners of her eyes. His actions made Art suddenly smile and laugh, reaching up to rub behind his ears and stroke his neck and head. Resting her forehead against the dogs, she smiled gently and shut her eyes again, thankful for the comforting companionship Lucky was providing in that moment.

"I'm okay, Lucky… I'm okay," she said quietly. Lucky barked and licked her face a couple more times, which made her laugh and wind her arms around his neck. "Thank you."

"Didn't know you had a dog," said a strikingly familiar voice. Eyelids flicking open, Art looked up to see Director Fury standing at the edge of the path, hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed in his typical all-black outfit, the thick, leather tailcoat seeming a bit unorthodox for the warm weather. Art hadn't seen him for a while, not since he basically said 'don't call us, we'll call you' that day in his office. Continuing to rub and scratch at Lucky's golden coat of fur, Art shook her head.

"I don't. This is Clint's dog. Steve and I have been looking after him the last few months while he's called away," she explained. Something about the neutral facial expression on his face suddenly darkened and he walked towards her.

"Remember how I said we'd give you a call if we ever needed anything?" Art nodded, lifting a hand to play with the chain of her dog tags. Fury withdrew a file from inside his coat and extended it to her. "Consider this our call." Slowly reaching up, Art took the file and arched an eyebrow. Lucky sat himself beside her as she flicked the file open; what she saw inside made her blood run cold. Inside, paper-clipped to a pile of papers, was a photograph of the glowing blue cube that Schmidt had been in possession of all those years ago. The paper beside it was labeled 'TESSERACT' in large, black, blocky letters. Fury watched as her face darkened. Her lips pursed and pulled into a frown, her brows drew together, and a haunted gleam appeared in her eyes. Slowly, she looked up at Fury, hands subconsciously beginning to shake again.

"The hell does this mean?" she asked in a deadly quiet voice.

"It means that the cube's been put back into play, and in the hands of someone very, _very _dangerous," Fury explained. Pushing herself to her feet with a frightening amount of ease, Art stared up at Fury and shook her head, hair out of its ponytail and into her eyes.

"No… no, you have to be mistaken, this _thing_, this… Tesseract, it disappeared just before Steve and I went into the ice, burnt through the floor of the aircraft. It's _gone_, it's over, it's done with. You've got to be mistaken," she listed off in a hushed voice. A pleading voice. This object had caused her pain and loss and nightmares. All she wanted it to be was a distant memory. Fury arched an eyebrow and gave her a look that said 'try me.'

"Howard Stark fished it out of the ocean while desperately searching for you and Captain Rogers. It's been in the possession of S.H.I.E.L.D. ever since… until last night, that is."

Art took a step back and began reading over the file in hand, shaking her head ever so slowly. If this _thing_ was back in play again, it meant that a repeat of what she and Steve had dealt with could be inevitable… or something far worse could come to fruition. It had been at least seventy years since they'd gotten hold of the Tesseract again, which could only mean more uses, _different_ uses for it could have been discovered in that time. And if she took Fury by his word… decided to believe that someone dangerous had gotten a hold of it…

"Who took it?" Art asked, voice suddenly slipping into a militaristic tone, the one she'd once used to ask Phillips what her next mission was to be. Her back became straighter, her stance more steady with her feet braced apart.

"Some crazy guy with a scepter and the ability to compromise some of our best agents." Fury watched her face as he said what had to be said. "Agents like Barton." Art's head snapped up, blue eyes wide, lips parted in shock. Lucky barked and jumped to his feet, sensing distress. She slowly shut the file and swallowed down the anger she felt rising up in her throat. Clint was probably the only person she'd met in this modern world she could truly call friend. To hear he was compromised––whatever that may mean––made her heart pound. That paired with the fact all of this was Tesseract related… it made her stomach drop.

"Has Steve been informed of this?" she asked steadily. Fury nodded.

"Captain Rogers has been given the same information as you. Though, I suspect he's probably already ready to go. I'd love to fill you in on all the glorious details, but as you can imagine, this isn't the sort of thing we can openly discuss in public. Go home, Lieutenant. Pack a bag, drop off the dog, and keep a look out for one of our agents. His name is Coulson, he'll get you where you need to be safe and sound."

OOOO

It took Art at least an hour to get ready as she took a glance over the Tesseract file. She packed one small dufflebag, showered, changed out of her work-out clothes, and gave a spare key to one of their neighbors so they could feed Lucky while she and Steve were gone. Stepping out of their apartment building with her bag in hand, she looked up and down the length of the street, expecting she'd have to wait a moment or two for this agent Fury had mentioned. It turned out, however, she didn't have to. Parked right at the curb was a large black van, and, beside that, stood a neatly dressed man with a kind smile. His hands were clasped behind his back, and when he spotted her, his smile grew.

"Agent Coulson…?" Art asked tentatively. He nodded and eagerly extended a hand as she approached, looking as though he may burst with the anticipation that glimmered in his eyes. "I'm––"

"Lieutenant Knoll, yes, I know," he interjected excitedly. Art grinned and laughed quietly as he shook her hand with a vigorous energy, grinning all the while. It was a true thrill to finally meet her, meet _Lieutenant Liberty_; and it was near impossible to just gush about how much he'd poured over her and the Captain's comics, how he'd collected trading cards, and read every possible book about them he could get his hands on. But a professional nod and an irrepressible grin would have to suffice. "A pleasure to finally meet you. An honor, really. An absolute _honor_."

"Not sure if honor is the right word, but I'm flattered," Art laughed. Coulson drew his hand away and quickly opened the van's back door and ushered her inside, his smile not faltering for even a moment. Art slipped into the air-conditioned vehicle and set the bag at her feet while Coulson slipped in beside her. Cars had certainly changed since Art's time––there was air conditioning in them now. They were safer and all of it, overall, was a nice change despite the loss of nostalgia. There was a divider that separated the back of the car from the front, so he knocked on that and the van started to move. "I take it you're here to brief me as well as be my escort?"

"Yes. Last night, at a top secret S.H.I.E.L.D. base, we encountered a breach. The Tesseract had been acting up and… it opened a portal. A-a _rift_ into space, so I'm told. This man came through. Loki of Asgard."

"'Of Asgard?'" Art inquired with a snort, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt along her legs. "Sounds like something out of…" She struggled for the name of the––apparently iconic––book series. Her face lit up happily as she recalled the name "Lord of the Rings."

Coulson chuckled as the van took a right turn, the speed of which it had been done with giving away just how much of a panic the whole of S.H.I.E.L.D. was about this entire situation. The agent seated beside her scratched at the back of his neck and adjusted the fit of the earpiece situated over his left ear.

"Try Norse mythology." Art's smile slowly fell.

"Norse… mythology…?" She laughed then, tucking strands of wet hair behind her ear. "You're not possibly suggesting that this man… that he's…" Coulson's face remained unchanged, his lips quirked up slightly, his eyebrows somehow managing to stay pinched but also be raised. It was a look of slight apology, of understanding at the confusion and the absurdity of the statement. The soldier's smile fell again.

"Unfortunately I am; and I'm not suggesting, Lieutenant, it's common S.H.I.E.L.D. knowledge that Asgard is as real as New York." A whoosh of air passed between her lips, and she rubbed her hands together, fingers dancing along her scars as she tried to let the possibility of Coulson's words sink in. "The word is… a lot stranger now, especially in more recent years."

"You don't have to tell me, buddy," she laughed, "you're talking to a woman who's astounded by how small phones are now… and who was injected with a serum that changed her biology. But, please, do continue."

"I'll try and get through as much of the basics as I can before we arrive at the airfield; that's where we'll be meeting Captain Rogers." He noticed Art's shoulders tense at the mention of the airfield. Her eyes glazed over and her gaze became distant, as though seeing into a different world. Coulson's brows drew together in concern. "Lieutenant? Are you alright?"

Art slowly inhaled and forced a smile onto her face before a wince wiped it right off. Airfield could only mean one thing; they would be flying somewhere. The thought made her heart race, made her throat begin to close up, brought round memories of icy air and a thick heaviness that she likened to what death would feel like. It had been her ultimate goal to never set foot on something that flew for the rest of her god-given life, but it would seem that fate had completely other plans.

"It's just that… the last flight I took didn't end too well," Art said, rubbing at the scar on her neck, which had become a sort of nervous habit. Silence filled the backseat of the car for a moment, but Coulson reached out a tentative hand and placed it on her shoulder. It was a comforting, friendly gesture from a man she found equally as comforting and friendly.

"It'll all be alright. I promise; and if it isn't, hold me personally responsible," Coulson told her. A faint, but genuine, smile began to tug at the corners of her mouth. Art looked over at the suited man seated beside her and let her hand slip away from the side of her neck.

"Now, why would I want to do that? You've been nothing but kind to me so far. So… This Loki fella… what made him snap his cap?"

**Translations according to GoogleTranslate**

_Gehorcht mir, mein weibliche krieger––_Obey me, my female warrior

_**Afterword:**_ _**I cannot stop writing this story. I should really be trying to actively update my other ones… but this one just keeps begging to be written and I have so many ideas I want to get to now that we've started on Avengers. I should feel guilty… and I kinda don't. So I threw in more Matt 'cause I'd like for him and Art to be friends… maybe let her pop into a Daredevil episode somewhere… I dunno, might be fun :)**_

_**Review repliessssss!**_

**Princess Jacqueline Chess:** _I'm interested in writing Art meeting Bruce… which is real soon! I think I'm mostly interested in it because I don't know what their friendship will actually be like. I have a vague idea… but I don't know how close they'll get etc, etc. I'm glad you're looking forward to it, though! Thanks again, hope you enjoyed!_

**shadowhuntingdaulntlessdemigod:** _I loved writing drunk Clint; I also love Lucky, who's like his best friend in the comics, so I had to bring him in somehow. I'm happy the Kenneth scene came out well! :) I'm gonna get him back into the story in a little bit; if I wasn't so eager to get to Avengers, then I'd do more of them getting reaquainted, but it would mostly just be like last chapter. I hope you enjoyed hte new chapter! Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _I know, I know, I should be working on my DW chap, but for some reason writing this story is helping me get over my semi writers block for it. But I hope you enjoyed the chapter regardless! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _I'm gonna love bringing Kenneth into this even more. Concerned phone calls and maybe him writing letters to her and Steve because he knows they prefer that over fumbling with their cell phones. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Shnitzel:** _I'm glad you enjoyed the reunion scene! And there's gonna be a LOT more of Art impulsively treating Kenny as a little boy what with the cursing and what not… and we'll see if that carries over and she gets teased by the team about it too. As we can see that she's not happy with Clint getting compromised; and when Bucky comes back around… God, the feels will run high. Especially since Ima keep throwing in memories of them back in the military. And Nat and Art will definitely be fun to watch and see how they interact, especially with the ways they treat their femininity/sexuality in battle/mission situations. Also… Emilia Clarke was totally the only face claim for Art xP I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**tkczombiepie:** _When Tony and Art meet, it'll certainly be interesting… and it'll also be a vastly different attitude towards her than he has towards Cap. I hope you stick around to read more! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _The grille was an idea I'd gotten almost a year ago… then I got rid of it, brought it back and stuck with it. I thought it presented a cool opportunity to show how Art impacted the world like Steve had. Oh, I already plan for Tony to get his head put on the chopping block because of something he says to Art. It's gonna be hilarious! And I love suggestions, 'cause Steve's pet name for Art is defnitely 'doll,' even though he doesn't want to admit it because he doesn't want to admit the Adventure Program got that bit right too. You saying that you always look forward to reading my replies makes me smile like an idiot; I love reading your reviews, darling, it gets me excited to keep writing. You're a lovely person, don't go changin'! Thanks again for taking the time to read!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _Glad you loved it, hope this one was good, too! Thanks again!_

**AllyCatt12:** _I always aim for adorable :) more of such moments are to come, even in the midst of all the fighting. I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _I will admit, I may or may not have laughed––or, snorted, more apropriately––when I wrote Art carrying Clint to his room. I thought it would be a funny way to display how strong she is now since, last story, she could barely push Bucky off her while they were wrestling. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _#BruceForReferee. Bruce would be the __**BEST **__referee. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _I'm glad you've enjoyed the story so far! I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**OmuiYumi:** _I'm thrilled you love it! Makes me smile :D I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**Guest:** _I refuse to give up writing this story; it's my baby! So, don't go worrying I'll stop! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**mistyeyedgirl97:** _Here's more! Hope you enjoyed it!_

**sagge:** _I both say thank you and sorry in regards to your tears last chapter. I'm happy I was able to write something that moved someone to tears, but I'm sorry that I moved you to tears xD It was difficult to write, honestly. Writing a soldier coming home from war/after a long absence is always hard, especially when you have personal experience. But I'm so glad you're enjoying the story so far! It's so much fun to write and I love writing Art and Steve together; they really ARE an old married couple, aren't they? I hope you keep on reading! Thank you so much for reading and for the lovely review!_

**R. :** _I'm thrilled you found the story again! Also, in regards to the name 'Lieutenant Liberty,' her superhero name was originaly something different, but I saw some else had used it for their story and, not wanting to look like I was copying them in any way, I changed it. But I feel like Lieutenant Liberty worked out better in hindsight. It has a more emotional context for Artie––and I'm so glad you like Artie! She has been the hardest character for me to come up with and write, but that's why I love her so much. There will be more of Kenneth––sometimes not directly, but he will play more of a role––but there might not be much till post-Avengers. But you can count on protective Kenneth! It'll be funny and sweet and ahhhh, I can't wait. Also, didn't realize it when I put it into the story, but, 'It's Been A Long, Long Time is actually the song playing in Steve's apartment during Winter Soldier; I was awe struck when I figured that out! I love that song so much. And I'm glad that Art and Steve's relationship doesn't seem too slow/too rushed––I feel like it was strangely paced because he, ya know, originally thought she was a dude. And don't worry about your review, I adore long, rambly reviews; it gives me a lot to think about and lots of time to brainstorm and stuff! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you so, so much for your lovely review!  
__**And thank you for those who added this to favorites/follows; it means a lot to me!**_

_**So that's it for now… next chapter we delve fully into Avengers! Ohhhh, do I have plans… so many plans! I also might have budding ideas for a story involving Bucky… 'cause I love him and I ADORE writing him. I also have ideas for a Pietro story, 'cause he's… to put it simply… a cinnamon role too good for this world. Anyway, I hope you're all as excited for Avengers as I am! Thanks again, you guys! You're all lovely!**_

_**~Mary**_


	7. Helicarrier

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

7\. Helicarrier

The plane shuddered as it took off. Art gripped the edge of her seat, knuckles turning white. Steve sat beside her, and while he made no outward signs of discomfort, she could hear him inhale and exhale heavily. It would seem that between the two, Art was the most uncomfortable on planes; so uncomfortable, in fact, that she actually thought might be sick for a moment. The feeling passed, however. It wasn't even a plane––they called it a quinjet, Art believed. It was the smaller of the fleet they seemed to have of such aircrafts, with just three or four seats installed into the wall and a small loading bay. The harness attached to the seat––which neither she or Steve had opted to wear out of comfort and confidence––dug into her spine unpleasantly. Steve's hand found hers, prying it off the edge of the seat so he could hold it in his lap. A thankful smile quirked at the edges of her lips as she shut her eyes and let her head rest against the wall behind her.

"You look nice today," he said quietly. Art's eyes flicked open as the fluttering in her stomach began to fade as the quinjet evened itself out in the air. Steve was smiling and his thumb was rubbing the back of Art's hand. Looking down at her maroon colored skirt and white blouse, Art arched an eyebrow as though she doubted the statement. Sometimes she thought she dressed _too_ much like she used to, like she was trying too hard to fit herself into forties fashion; but she _did_ look quite good in such styles.

"It's not too 'old fashioned?'"

"I happen to love old fashioned."

Art bent her head to press a kiss to Steve's shoulder before resting her cheek against it. Steve rested his cheek against the crown of her head, his nose buried in her hair, which smelled of the shampoo she'd deemed her favorite. Pomegranate. His attempts to keep her distracted seemed to have worked; and it had kept him distracted as well. The previous night he'd been plagued with one of his nightmares. It wasn't a solidified image. It was always a constant ebb and flow of memories he never wanted to think about, from that day on the train to particularly hard battles they'd been through. Explosions, deathly silence, red hot pain, cool blue sadness. The day hadn't gotten any better when Fury popped up at the gym to tell him about the Tesseract. Now there he was, on a mission again, but, at least Art was there at his side.

"Here, you both might want to have a look over this," Coulson said, standing and holding something out to them. It was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s electronic tablets that was essentially just a slab of glass that worked like a computer. Both soldiers had been briefed on the situation; how and when the Tesseract had been found, how it had been stolen, how agents had been compromised… but they didn't need to be told twice how dangerous it all was. "These are just some, uh, files on who you might be working with. Just, uh… tap on whoever you want to read about." Coulson gestured to the screen vaguely as Steve took it from his grasp, knowing full well that the two were still adjusting to modern technology… he'd been reading the reports as they came in.

"Right, thanks," Steve said with a friendly nod and smile. Coulson nodded back, returning the smile brightly, standing there a moment too long before he returned to his seat on the opposite side of the loading bay. The names listed on the screen were:

_**Bruce Banner**_

_**Artemesia Knoll**_

_**Steven Rogers**_

_**Natasha Romanoff**_

_**Anthony Stark**_

After a moment of consideration, Steve tapped the screen where '_Anthony Stark_' was displayed, finger pressing against the glass harder than necessary. Files zoomed into focus on the screen, including a video of Tony zipping about as Iron Man, making public appearances, and showing off. There were so many files on Stark that it would take well over a day to read them all, so after skimming through what they were allowed to read, they moved on to Romanoff, a former Russian assassin, and, finally Banner. Steve and Art watched a video on the screen with creases forming between their eyebrows. A video of a large, green being that Banner apparently turned into when his heart rate got too high; the Hulk, they called it. The video depicted the Hulk attacking a squadron just outside Culver University.

"We're about forty minutes out from base, sir," the pilot told Coulson, who had stood up to stretch his legs. Steve and Art had been quietly reading and chatting for the last hour, leaving the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to twiddle his thumbs and wait––hope––one of them asked him something. Turning away from the cockpit, Coulson approached the two soldiers with a residual smile on his face.

"So, this Doctor Banner was trying to replicate the serum that was used on me––us?" Steve inquired, referencing something they'd read in a file moment before. Coulson nodded his confirmation.

"A lot of people were. You were the world's first superheroes. Banner thought gamma radiation might hold the key to Erskine's original formula," Coulson explained, gesturing to them both, "which, of course, led to Schmidt's version of the serum." Their attention was brought back to the screen as the Hulk roared and slammed his fists into a jeep.

"Didn't really go his way, did it?"

"Not so much. When he's not that thing though, guy's like a Stephen Hawking." Art and Steve stared up at him with confusion shining in their eyes, a look that was starting to leak into their expressions. Steve's lips were parted and Art's brows were pulled together. "He's like a… smart person." The soldiers slowly nodded, and Coulson thought that he might have seen a twinge of embarrassment for not knowing what he had been referencing. "I gotta say, it's an honor to meet you, both of you, officially." His comment drew a smile from his idols, a humble but happy look. "I sort of met you guys, I mean, I watched you while you were sleeping."

Steve and Art's smiles waned and Steve looked down at his hands. Art scratched at the back of her neck, pushing hair over both her shoulders. They both found Coulson to be quite kind and very helpful, but his last comment was just… odd. Steve set the tablet aside and rose to his feet, walking towards the opening that led into the cockpit so he could stare out the pilot's window. They were speeding over the ocean, the water glittering beneath them in gentle, rolling waves. Art stretched her legs out, knees popping as they were moved from the position they'd been in so long, still avoiding Coulson's eyes. The agent quickly began to stutter out random syllables as he attempted to correct his words, which had definitely come out creepier than he'd intended.

"I mean I was… I was present while you were unconscious from the ice." The correction drew a chuckle from Art, who shifted to sit on the edge of her seat, leaning her forearms on her knees. "It's just a huge honor to have you both on board."

"Well, I hope I'm the man for the job," Steve said, bracing an arm just above the door that lead to the cockpit. Art smiled a bit and raised a hand.

"And I the woman," she added on. Coulson smiled brightly and looked between the two, standing beside Steve, which situated him between the two soldiers.

"Oh, you are. Absolutely. We've, uh, made some modifications the uniforms," Coulson suddenly informed. A proud smile appeared on his face and he offered a little shrug. "I had some input."

"The uniform?" Steve asked, sounding surprised. He shared a look with Art, who looked equally as surprised. They hadn't even _seen_ their uniforms since they'd woken up. Art figured they had been thrown away or, at best, achieved. Besides… Steve had always figured his uniform was more of a costume, just a symbol. "Aren't the stars and stripes a little… old fashioned?"

There was a beat of serious silence as Coulson gave a slow nod and quirked a smile. "With everything that's happening… the things that are about to come to light… people might need a bit of old fashioned." His words were so serious, so truthful, that it brought them all to a thoughtful silence. Art tucked hair behind her ear and then rested her chin atop her clasped hands, only bringing her gaze up from the floor when Coulson turned to her, smiling once again. "I––we––particularly had fun with refiguring your uniform, Lieutenant."

"My… _my_ uniform? It… it was just a blue tailcoat and black pants," she laughed. "The only… 'iconic' thing about that uniform was the little wing patch." Each of the Commandos had gotten a small, silver-white patch in the shape of a small wing that were exact copies of the wing pattern on the temples of Steve's headgear. Bucky and Art wore them on their left jacket sleeves. Falsworth put it on his breast pocket. Dugan tucked it into the band of his bowler cap since he wasn't sure where he wanted to put it yet. Coulson chuckled and shook his head, like she had said something wrong.

"Each of the Commandos' uniforms were iconic. For example, Dum-Dum Dugan with his bowler cap. Falsworth with his red beret and scarves… Bucky Barnes with his double breasted coat, and you with your tailcoat. We vamped off that, though, you will find it's a smidgen different. The comics liked to take liberties with it throughout the years, but we made sure it was functional."

Art slowly nodded and leaned back in her seat, tracing the vague shape of the wing patch against her thigh as Coulson chattered on about one S.H.I.E.L.D. regulation or another about uniform requirements or something of the sort. True to the pilot's word, it took another forty or so minutes to get to what appeared to be a very large battleship Coulson had called the Helicarrier. The process of landing was much rougher for Art than the take-off had been. The pitfall feeling she got in her stomach as the descended was much stronger than what it had been at take-off and reminded her of plummeting towards the ocean. But she grit her teeth and made herself stand tall and hold her chin up. As the pilot flicked some switches to drop the ramp at the rear of the quinjet, Coulson stepped up on her right and smiled at her.

"You see? I told you it'd be alright," he said. She returned the smile thankfully and pushed hair behind her ears again.

When Coulson, Steve, and Art exited the quinjet via the ramp, they were met by a woman with short, curly red hair. Steve and Art immediately recognized her as Natasha Romanoff, thanks to the snooping they'd been allowed to do on the way there. She wore all black, save for her red-orange shirt, which Art supposed was a habit of assassins both current and former; but, despite the carefully composed look on Romanoff's face, Art got the feeling she was a good person.

"Agent Romanoff, Captain Rogers and Lieutenant Knoll," Coulson said, gesturing to the World War two veterans. Natasha offered a smile.

"Ma'am."

"Hi."

"A pleasure to meet you," Art said. Natasha nodded to her and gave her a once over, a curiosity present in her eyes.

"The pleasure's all mine." She turned to Coulson then, nodding to the massive expanse of the ship. "They need you on the bridge. Face time." The agent dashed off with a 'see you there' to the three he was leaving behind. The trio as they casually began walking towards the edge of the ship, Art smoothing her hands along the sides of her legs to keep her skirt in order. "There was quite a buzz around here, finding you guys in the ice. I thought Coulson was gonna _swoon_. Has he asked either of you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?" Steve's brows shot upwards and a small smile appeared on his ips.

"Trading cards?"

"They're vintage. He's very proud," Natasha informed with an amused smugness in her voice. "One of his favorite cards is the two of you posing together––apparently it's one of the rarest ones to find nowadays." Steve made a sound in his throat, shoving his hands in his pants pockets.

"Imagine that; you and I on trading cards," Steve said to Art, who smiled and shrugged.

"I've seen a couple of them. They're amusing, actually. Some of them barely look like you," Art commented, recalling the framed cards Kenny had in his apartment. Steve smirked and shook his head.

"Can't wait to see how they depicted you."

They approached a man wearing a brown suit jacket, matching pants, and a vivid purple button down; he was trying to walk forward, but found that people kept getting in his way. He skirted around them, clearly nervous as he rubbed his hands together and avoided any and all bodily contact. Sensing his discomfort, Art put on a friendly smile and approached him confidently.

"Dr. Banner," she said in greeting. Bruce stared at her for a moment before accepting the hand she had proffered. Blinking he added in a nod as well, swallowing the thickness that had gathered in his throat.

"Oh, yeah, hi. They, uh, told me you'd be coming," he said, eyes ficking between Art and Steve. Steve stepped forward and shook the doctor's hand. He was standing a bit taller, his face was a spell more composed, and his movements were all very measured; it was clear that Steve had slipped back into Captain mode.

"Word is you can find the cube," he said as they shook hands. Bruce chuckled and clasped his own hands together again, briefly glancing down at the tarmac. There was a cautious suspiciousness in his movements.

"Is that the only word?"

"Only word I care about." Bruce nodded and then gestured to everything around them. There were aircrafts all around them and men and women in uniform jogging about the deck in formations.

"Must be strange for you both, all of this," Bruce commented. Art and Steve watched as a number of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents jogged by in a manner that reminded them of boot camp. Art clasped her hands behind her back and smirked a bit and Steve resisted the urge to chuckle. Instead, one of his eyebrows arched skyward and he smiled a bit.

"Well, this is actually kind of familiar," he admitted, sounding surprisingly relaxed. It was true. The atmosphere was so familiar it was nearly eerie; both Art and Steve actually felt comfortable, relaxed, and at home, even. A recruit walked passed Art and nodded to her respectfully, touching the brim of his cap as he passed, uttering 'Lieutenant.' She smiled and laughed quietly while returning the nod.

"Quite familiar," she agreed.

"Gentlemen, Lieutenant, you may want to step inside in a minute," Natasha casually said from behind them. "It's gonna get a little hard to breath."

The Helicarrier started to shake, and an alarm started to blare. Agents ran about to start clipping tow cables from quinjets and planes to the runways they sat on. Steve laughed in disbelief, pushing his hands into his pockets as they ventured towards the edge of the Helicarrier to get a better look at what was going on. The sea around them was beginning to roil and bubble, something that was not a very typical sight to see on a battleship. Art tilted her head curiously, falling into step with the two men.

"Is this a submarine?" he asked, almost to himself.

"Really? They want me in a submerged, pressurized, metal container?" Bruce snorted and shook his head; honestly, was S.H.I.E.L.D. stupid? The lives they were endangering by even bringing him on board was ludicrous. Finally standing at the very edge of the ship, they saw that the water was bubbling so violently due to a set of massive lift fans that were appearing out of the water. The blades within them spun, churning the water into a frothy, bubbling mess. Water splashed up against the Helicarriers sides and it slowly began to rise, the wind kicking up. Steve and Art stared in awe and Bruce just shook his head with a dismal chuckle. Clenching a fist full of her skirt so it bunched up around her legs to protect her modesty, Art just shook her head and let out a laugh.

"Oh, of course… it _flies_," she called out over the wind.

"This is much worse," Bruce added on wryly.

Once they were inside, Art found that she didn't feel that nervous roiling in her stomach, like she might have thought she would. The Helicarrier was vastly larger than Schmidt's plane _and_ the quinjet, which was actually quite a comfort; that meant that they probably wouldn't feel the tiny turbulances that made other planes shake and shudder. And that was, indeed, a relief. The inside of the Helicarrier was like a mash of something old and everything new. It felt like a military craft, and everyone around them addressed them by proper titling as they passed. It had that distinct, timeless, military feel that made Steve and Art feel at home, and yet all of the new technology made it feel foreign, but not foreign enough to make them shy away from it.

Led by Natasha, they were brought to the bridge, which was a vast space filled with agents sititng in front of monitors and screens just below an elevated level that must have been the command station. There numerous screens around sat spot, which had a full view of the entire room and jutted out slightly so that Fury could be seen. Behind said spot was a large, glass table probably meant for consultations and planning missions. Agent Hill was giving out orders from her station on the floor, relaying something to Fury once everything was checked and ready to go. Everything was gleaming and glittering, brand-spanking new, and completely awe-inspiring to the two soldiers who froze to take it all in. Art, finally forgetting that they were in a flying hunk of metal, smiled in wonder and stopped at one of the railings to lean against it.

"We're at level, sir," Maria told Fury, who smiled with a pleased expression.

"Good," he said, "let's vanish."

"Reflective panels engage!"

"Vanish…" Art murmured under her breath, shaking her head in complete dispbelief. This massive ship could _vanish_. What else would the world think of next? Fury turned around and gave them a nod of greeting.

"Gentlemen, Miss Knoll." Steve stepped forward and dug a ten dollar bill out of his pocket. With a risidual smile on his face, Steve handed it to Fury, who smugly took it and fitted it into his pocket. He knew he'd win that bet––all of this had always been bound to surprise the Captain.

Steve noticed that Art had walked down a thin walkway that cut directly through the room and towards the windows at the very front, so he followed. She was staring out at the expance of sky before them, which was still a vibrant, bright blue in the late afternoon sun. Clouds drifted past them in puffy, cotton-candy like lumps, disappearing from their line of vision as they glided forward. It was surpising to see that Art was smiling; she was biting her thumb nail, but she was smiling.

"You know, it's really beautiful," Art commented, gesturing to the sight before them. "When you stop and look at it all… it's so beautiful. Nevermind whatever happened before… To feel like you're flying––and when you actually are––is just… brilliant."

"I think you might be getting over your fear of flying," Steve chuckled, smiling down at her. Had it not been for the professional setting they found themselves in, he would have taken her hand, draped an arm over her shoulder, or kissed her head. But they were stood in front of dozens of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and they both knew that wouldn't exactly fly––or, perhaps it would. But none the less, they simply shared a smile and kept on walking, dropping down a level as they approached Coulson, who was explaining how they were going about finding the Tesseract.

"We're sweeping every wirelessly accessable camera on the planet. Cellphones, laptops… if it's connected to a satellites, it's eyes and ears for us," Coulson explained to Bruce. Natasha was crouched down by one of the screens that displayed a picture of Clint's face. Her own features were twisted into a look of deep concern, her hands wringing themselves together as she thought over what they'd just been told.

"That's still not gonna find them in time," she commented.

"Narrow your field," Bruce instructed. "How many spectrometers do you have access to?"

"How many are there?" Fury asked.

"Call every lab you know and have them put the spectrometers on the roof and calibrate them for gamma rays. I'll rough out a tracking algorithm, based on cluster recognition. At least we could rule out a few places," Bruce said, further laying out what plans they should follow as he removed his jacket. Art stared at him with both her brows arching for her hairline. Coulson hadn't been kidding when he said he was 'like a smart person.' She barely understood half of the words that had come out of his mouth. "Do you have somewhere for me to work?"

"Agent Romanoff, will you show Doctor Banner to his laboratory, please?" Fury asked, making a step towards the command consoles.

"You're gonna love it, Doc. We've got all the toys," Natasha told Bruce as she led him towards the door they'd entered through.

"Agent Coulson, why don't you show the Captain and Lieutenant to their quarters? I'm sure they'd like to rest; it's been a long day."

"Of course, sir." Coulson turned to Steve and Art, smiled and gestured to another door. "If you'd both please follow me."

The rest of the afternoon was spent getting the two aquainted with their new surroundings. Their rooms were all situated in what they called 'R-Hall,' which was just an abbreviation for 'Residency Hall.' There were a couple kitchenettes and leisure rooms, though Art had to guess that those wouldn't exactly be thoroughly used during this mission. Perhaps on other days and other missions that weren't as dire they might find an agent or two sipping coffee in the comfortable chairs, but everyone was still buzzing about, preparing the Helicarrier, doing maitenance, or situated at their stations to get their locators on Loki and Clint. Steve and Art each had small locker rooms that held their uniform and their equipment, two rooms that they didn't dare push into yet. Once their initial tour was done with, and a little bit of coffee was had, night had fallen and they found themselves back on the bridge.

"I mean… if it's not too much trouble," Coulson was saying, in reference to the conversation they'd been having about his––apparently infamous––trading card collection.

"No, no! It's fine," Steve assured from his spot beside the contented looking Agent. His idols flanked him on either side, and it was practically a dream come true.

"I'd love to," Art added on sincerely, but distractedly. She was eager to find this bastard, track down Clint. She'd easily slipped back into Lieutenant mode, just as Steve had slipped into Captain mode. There was a lull in conversation before Coulson said,

"It's a vintage set. It took me a couple of years to collect them all. Near mint. Slight boxing around the edges, but––" His description was cut off as a computer began to ping insistantly, and an agent sprung out of his seat.

"We've got a match! Sixty-seven percent. Wait, cross-match––sixty-nine percent."

"Location?" Coulson asked, crossing to the computer.

"Stuttgart, Germany. Twenty-eight Konigstrasse. He's not exactly hiding…" the agent said, gesturing to the video feed he'd pulled up.

"Captain, Lieutenant," Fury called from his post. They turned around to face him, an expectant look on their faces. "You're up."

_**Afterword:**_ _**So, I went on a writing binge for this story the last few days and wrote about three chapters. Seemed a shame to not get this one up. :) I'm having too much fun with this story… far too much fun.**_

_**Review replies!  
**_**R.S. Dobs:** _I'm excited to get into the Avengers, too; I'm really excited to finally write out what I've had planned. We meet Tony next chapter––that's gonna be real fun! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Princess Jacqueline Chess:** _I figured that Art and Steve aren't ALWAYS together, so it made sense if she got the mission seperately. And Tony may or may not end up acting kind of asshole-ish in a couple chapters… oh what fun that'll be! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _I loved writing Matt and might try and fit him in later :) It was nice taking a step back with Art last chapter, but now we're thrown in to the thick of things! We meet Tony and Loki next chapter, so that'll be great fun––we also get to see Art's suit! I finally devised what it looks like. We also get some tension in the next few chapters… I'm so excited, oh my god. Steve and Art getting cutesy will also happen at some point soon, and it's just gonna be great. I love reading and replying to your reviews, darling! They're always amazing to read! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, love! Thanks again!_

**R.J. North:** _I totally agree; and I'm glad I'm not the only one who just hopelessly has endless story ideas. The ideas just rattle around in my head near constantly. I had such trouble trying to figure out 'Lieutenant Libert' that when it hit me, I had a happy spaz attack. And I love that song dearly! I think I might make a playlist of songs for these stories because I do have a list of songs I listen to while writing this story. Also, I think it would be hilarious for Art to meet Foggy––I think he'd understand who she was pretty quickly, and then freak out about it. I don't know about an Agent's of SHIELD episode… I hadn't thought of that! Art meets Tony and Loki next chapter, and it's personally one of my favorite chapters of this particular story so far; and I have some real good feelsy ideas for a Bucky story… 'cause I just love writing feelsy stories! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugoke:** _I'm glad that I'm keeping Steve and Art realistic! That's always my ultimate goal :) I hope you're enjoying the story! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _Super pumped you loved the bit with Matt! It was a lot of fun to write; I toyed with writing a Daredevi story a little while back… I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _Movie plot-line time! So excited for what's to come. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _There's gonna be a lot more Coulson! :D Maybe not a LOT but there will be more of him, because he's a sweetie! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _There will be more interactions with Bruce and Nat in the next few chapters, 'cause their greetings are fleeting here; and I will follow the plot of the movie with a couple of my own little tweaks and twists because Art's gotta fit in there some how :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Aice Gone Madd:** _I'd love to have Lucky as a pet, he's just so sweet. I might have her meet Spiderman; I have an idea of how she could… stay tuned to find out if she does ;) I love writing Superhero cameos, they're so much fun! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _I'm glad you enjoyed last chapter! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _I couldn't remember if in the second Avengers Clint had a dog at the farm, so I was like 'screw it, Lucky's gonna be in this story whether he was in the movie or not!' And if he wasn't, well, I have plans to keep him involved; also, Steve and Art should totally have a dog. Steve would cuddle with it like mad, and we all know it! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**OmuiYumi:** _Since Avengers takes place about a year or so before the Daredevil series… I'm assuming Matt is in his mid/late twenties/early thirties. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Anna (Guest):** _I'm very, extremely flattered that you consider this one of the best Capt. America fics! Also, thank you for the corrections on the German! I'll go fix them! :) Thank you so much, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

**tkczombiepe:** _I think Art and Matt are/will be great friends; they've both got things they're hiding from each other and I think that oddly brings them closer together, able to bond easier. I dunno. I think they're both sweetiepies and desrve good friends. And Steve'll come around and get friends, as is evidenced by Sam, and, who knows, maybe he'll befriend Matt too :) Also, Coulson, our resident angel… you'll have to stick around and see what I choose to do. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

_And to those who have added this to their favorites/follows, it means a lot! Thank you!_

_And that's it for this chapter; next time we get to see Art's suit! I finally devised what her suit will look like, and, if I could draw bodies, I'd draw that thing and upload it to tumblr. But, unfortunately, I can only do portraits of people from the shoulders up, and even then I'm not that good. *sigh* such is life, right? Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

_~Mary_


	8. Nothing Suits Me Like A Suit

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

8\. Nothing Suits Me Like A Suit

Stepping into her locker room, Art was faced with a sight that made her pause. At the back of the small room, there was a metal cabinet fixed into the wall, and inside that was what she presumed could only be her new uniform. It was currently fitted on the torso of a mannequin to preserve its shape, and all its necessary accessories were hanging around it neatly. Slowly approaching, she reached out a tentative hand ran her fingers across the fabric. Coulson hadn't been kidding when he said that they'd made changes. But she supposed that now being considered a hero, she needed something more… iconic; and if that was what they were going for, they'd hit the nail on the head.

The suit was the same vivid blue that Steve's had been instead of the darker blue that she and Bucky had adopted for their Commando uniforms. But the hints of that Commando uniform were still present, just as she'd been assured. The front bared a set of double breasted silver buttons, that actually appeared to be functional instead of decorative like she might have expected. A silvery-white star was present on the right sleeve, situated just above a single silver bar that represented her rank as First Lieutenant. The left sleeve bared a single patch. A white wing the size of her thumb, one that looked so similar to the one she'd once worn she had to wonder if Coulson had pulled strings to get the original thing. Art slipped the buttons through their holes, and slipped the suit off the mannequin carefully. While removing the suit she noted a flash of color on the back of the suit. Turning it over, she noted that, following the tailored stitching of the back, were two stripes of color––one red and one white. A thick red stripe, bordered on either side with slightly thinner white stripes, followed the line of her spine neatly. The fabric was heavier than she expected. Setting the top portion of the suit aside, she stripped down and slipped the the ensemble on.

The pants were the same color blue, and had a few sets of helpful clasps in the top that clipped into her provided belt, which would make it much easier to run; the top of the suit had similar clasps, which held the whole ensemble together nicely. Next came the boots, which were typical black combat boots, but were to be paired with a set of armored red half-chaps that stopped a few inches below her knees. Structural patterns in thin white were sculpted into said piece of armoring, purely for aesthetic purposes, she supposed. Once those were donned, Art strapped her holster––brown in color––and gun to her right thigh, making sure it was fitted correctly. The provided gloves came next. They, too, were red, but more of a russet color, and cut off just above her knuckles. They felt surprisingly stiff and heavy, much to the soldier's confusion. Once she slipped them on and flexed her fingers, though, they moved _perfectly_. It came to her attention then that they had some sort of interlocking armor within the fabric. It locked together firmly and tightly once her fist was curled, but began as naturally bendy as her fingers when they weren't flexed.

Once Art was fully dressed, she tugged all of her hair up into a pony-tail, and stood there silently for a minute. It felt strange to be back in uniform. Especially in the uniform she found herself in. It was an outfit meant for a hero, and there she stood, wearing it. Shutting her eyes and inhaling deeply, Art let herself get used to the feeling for a moment. It was a brief, quiet moment, but it was something that she'd needed. When she stepped back into the corridor, she bumped into Natasha, who had donned an all black jumpsuit, the only splash of color being her hair and a red hour-glass sort of shape attached to her belt. She smiled at Art, who fell in step with her on their way to the Helicarrier's interior hangar.

"Feel good to be suited up again?" Natasha asked as they rounded a corner. Art took in a deep breath and let it escape her lips as she smiled. Two strands of hair slipped from the ponytail and fell to frame Art's face; such was the trouble of her hair just barely touching her shoulders. Truth be told…

"Yeah. It is." She then gestured to what she was wearing. "Though this'll need getting used to."

"You look great," Natasha assured with a smirk. "I'd be surprised if the Captain doesn't swoon." Art chuckled and shook her head, finding the mental image her words brought up amusing, though unlikely. Had anyone been walking behind the two women, they might have noticed the differences in the ways they walked. Natasha's hips swung more while Art walked more straight on, used to having suppressed the natural feminine sway she walked with. Art's walk was quite soldier-like, though a touch of that feminine walk was beginning to peek through again, now that she had no need to hide the fact she was a woman.

"I'm surprised people still use that word. Seems like it might be a bit too old fashioned for today's standards," Art admitted, laughter still plain in her voice. Glancing down at her uniform, a wry smirk appeared on her lips. "I just hope they give me a second gun."

Steve was already waiting in the hangar by the time the two women arrived. He stood suited up in the newest version of the Captain America uniform. The fourth incarnation, if one counted the original costume and the first time said costume had been worn into battle. The star was still emblazoned boldly on his chest, the fabric the same vivid blue Art found herself dressed in, though patches of fabric over his biceps were white in color. Red and white vertical stripes still decorated his abdomen and sections of silver adorned the uniform here and there. His gloves and boots were red, and a cowl slouched around his neck, not yet pulled up. But the most familiar thing about his uniform, was the vibranium shield he carried on his left arm. It had been repainted and the bullet-scuffs buffed away; but it was still the same––ringed with red and silver, with a star surrounded by blue at its center.

The blond haired soldier had his head bowed, fixing the fit of his gloves, but when he lifted it, he saw Art approaching. And he stared. He took in the whole of her uniform and couldn't help but stare. It was a far cry from what she had once worn, and distinctly more feminine. This time she wasn't hiding her identity or disguising herself as a man. _This time_ she was allowed to embrace her femininity, be proud of what she had done, what she had accomplished… and she looked beautiful. Art stopped in front of him and a smile appeared on her lips suddenly, as though she hadn't been able to hold it back. It was bizarre to be back in uniform, bizarre to be held up to Steve's standard as a hero… but it was also all so exhilerating.

"Think they wanted us to match?" she asked, gesturing between the two of them. So many of the elements of their uniforms did, indeed, match. Though, they supposed that was on purpose. They had been viewed as a famous duo for years, depicted together in comics and shows and trading cards; it only made sense that they would match in one way or another. Steve, who had still been staring at her, at the genuinely happy smile on her face, took an extended pause in order to gather his thoughts. He cleared his throat and nodded.

"Yeah, seems like it. You look good––I mean, the, uh, uniform it's… you're…" Steve's mind stalled and he shut his eyes briefly before he finally resettled on, "You look good."

With a smile, Art looked down at her uniform and smoothed her hands over the curve of her waist and stopped at her belt, which sat just at the tops of her hips. Steve's eyes followed the movement, watching as her fingers danced over the curve of her waist.

"It's strange, though," she said, "not having to hide my waistline, not having to wear Howard's vest. As ingenious as it was, it's much nicer to just… let everything be." Steve hummed his response, and Art looked up only to catch him staring. She silently bit her lip while they drew up into a smile. Steve was always the perfect gentleman, and never really stared; or, rather, he stared when he was sure he wouldn't get caught, and even then he wouldn't stare long. The time in the bar when he'd first seen Art in a dress was an exception, though––as was the current moment.

"Rogers, Knoll," Natasha said, stepping over to them. Steve's head whipped around, his cheeks beginning to tinge a faint shade of pink; Art simply smiled and turned to face the red haired woman. "You ready to fly?"

OOOO

Loki of Asgard was smugly contented with the work he'd done. There he stood before a mass of frightened mortals, all kneeling and shaking as his voice echoed through the night air. Clones of himself stood smirking just as he did, surrounding the gala guests and trapping them in a mass crowd just outside the Stuttgart museum. That smirk grew into a smile as he raised his arms, grasping his spear rightly in his right hand. The crowd took in the man before them, the man bearing battle armor of gold and green, a glowing scepter, and a horned helmet. They had all witnessed him kill a man––or, at least, they assumed he'd killed him––and the last thing any of them wanted to do was anger him and bring a fate similar or worse onto themselves. Loki chuckled as he casually began to stride forward into the crowd.

"Is not this… _simpler?_ Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you _crave_ subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power… for identity… you were _made_ to be ruled. In the end… you will _always_ kneel," Loki announced to the crowd, voice soft, tender almost. Almost. It was truly more smug than anything, a smugness that coursed through him as he smiled at his triumph, at the almost disappointingly easy battle he'd just won over all these people.

An old man with thinning wait hair raised his head in that moment. He pushed himself to his feet, a hand heavily grasping onto his own knee for support. Loki and the man turned to face each other, to face off in the silence of the crowd. The old man shook his head with a defiant, determined look on his time-worn face.

"Not to men like you," he said. "_Never_ to men like you."

Loki laughed, shook his head. How foolish these mortals were…

"There are no men like me," Loki chuckled in response.

"There are _always_ men like you." Slowly raising his scepter, Loki pointed it towards the old man with a threatening casualness.

"Look to your elder, people," the blue gem in the top of his spear began to glow with a more intense light, "let him be an example."

The man's eyes widened in fear. Loki smirked. Just as a jet of blue light was expelled from the scepter, a flash of red, white, and blue streaked through the crowd and ducked down in front of the old man. The jet of light sparked off a shield and bounced back, hitting Loki square in the stomach. Steve stood tall, cowl now in place, and strode towards Loki, who looked up at him with a fierce snarl and matching glare.

"You know, the last time I was in Germany and saw a man standing over everyone else, we ended up disagreeing," Steve proclaimed in a strong, ringing voice. People began to rise to their feet, watching on in awe and surprise. Loki glared at Captain America distastefully as he rose to his knees.

"_The soldier…_" he spat. The Asgardian began to chuckle, then, using his scepter as a support while he rose to his feet again. "A man out of time." Steve gave a singular chuckle and let his head quirk to the side slightly as he said,

"I'm not the one who's out of time."

The quinjet swept in and hovered over them, a gun appearing from under the belly of the vehicle.

"_Loki, drop the weapon and stand down,_" Natasha's voice said over intercom.

Thoroughly amused by their attempts of stopping him, Loki smirked and then quickly drew the scepter back and thrust it upward, ejecting another beam of blue energy straight at the quinjet. Utilizing the shift of attention, Steve through his shield at Loki and it hits him hard enough to send him stumbling back a step and send it back to the soldier's grasp like a boomerang. Steve rushed the man in the green cape, the two exchanging blows till Loki managed to throw him halfway across the courtyard they were stood in. The crowd was scrambling to run away, clearing space for the two to fight. Loki raised the scepter, but was distracted by the call of,

"Hey!"

Just as he turned, a fist made contact with the side of his head, helmet clanging as knuckles met metal. The blow was strong enough to send him to the ground, scrambling to push himself up to get a look at whoever had thrown him so. Above him stood another figure in a patriotic uniform, only this one was female. This was the one Barton had spent a particular amount of time speaking about. Artemesia, if Loki remembered correctly. Art loomed over him with her right hand hovering just over her holster, ready to draw if she needed to; and she didn't look happy, not a single bit.

"Maybe it'd be best if you stayed down, buddy," Artemesia suggested cooly. But Loki utilized what advantage he had on the ground and kicked her legs out from under her in one fell swoop. The moment her back hit the ground, Art used her falling momentum to swing her legs and body over her head to bring herself into a crouch. At the last second she drew her gun and aimed it at the battle armor laden man, only to find he'd gained ground; the butt of his scepter shot out and knocked her gun from her hands, leaving Art weaponless. Just as he was about to swing the scepter down at her, Steve's shield was flung his way. Whilst Loki knocked the annoying disk of metal away, Art jumped to her feet.

Steve swung a punch at the Asgardian, who leant backwards and out of the way, swinging his scepter in retaliation. Steve jumped back to avoid the wickedly sharp blade at the top of the staff, which was now arcing in Art's direction. She ducked under it and, when she stood straight again, deflected another blow with her wrist; that was when she lunged for him, intent to knock him down. But Loki was quick to react, grabbing her round the waist, spinning her round and flinging her to the pavement not too far away. Art groaned as she flipped across the ground, the wind thoroughly knocked from her lungs. There was a stinging across her cheek that could only meant she'd scraped it. Lifting her head, she watched as Steve, in perfect boxing form, punched and jabbed for Loki, dodging the scepter as it was swung about. He made the mistake, however, of keeping his back turned too long, which gave Loki the opportunity to swing the scepter around.

"_Steve!_" Art screamed in warning, but found herself crying out just as Steve was flung to the ground. Just as he rolled into a crouch, Loki forcibly placed the butt of the scepter against the nape of his neck to keep him down.

"_Kneel_," Loki growled.

"Not today!" Steve retorted, batting the scepter away before rising to his feet, leaping into the air, and kicking for Loki's head.

His foot met its mark and, with an angry growl, Loki took hold of the American soldier and threw him across the courtyard. Art staggered to her feet and ran at the Asgardian, keeping herself light on her toes. Bending at the waist, Art grabbed the hem of Loki's cape as she ran and then flung the length of flowing green fabric over his helmet clad head. He roared in anger as his vision was obscured, fighting with the expanse of green as Art continued to make her run towards Steve. Just as Loki freed himself of his flowing confines and as Art helped pull Steve to his feet, a rock song began to blare loudly in the sky, coming from the quinjet's PA system. They all threw their gazes to the sky in confusion just in time to see a red and gold streak flash through the night sky. None other than Tony Stark, appeared out of nowhere in his Iron Man suit, shooting through the sky effortlessly. A blast from the palms of said suit hit Loki square in the chest and sent him flying at least five feet through the air. His back hit a set of stone steps that led from the courtyard to street level and he grunted in pain. Tony touched down just in front of the Asgardian as he was sitting up. The gleaming metal of his suit pulled apart in some places to allow tiny little missiles or guns to appear, all of Tony's weaponry, including the repulsors in his palms, directed at Loki.

"Your move, Reindeer Games," he said casually, but threateningly. Steve and Art appeared on either side of Tony, Steve bearing his shield, and Art with her gun finally back in hand. None of them looked to be in a joking mood. Loki slowly raised his hands, and in rays of sparkling, golden light, his battle armor dematerialized, leaving him in an elaborate but still armored ensemble. Tony's weaponry detracted and he lowered his arms. "Good move."

"Mr. Stark," Steve said curtly in greeting. Tony's head turned slightly towards him and gave a nod.

"Captain." Art took something off her belt; it was a set of handcuffs that she'd picked up on her way out, just in case they needed them for Loki or, if they'd found him, Clint. Holding them up for her other two teammates to see, Art gestured to the surrendering man. "May I have the honor?"

"Go right ahead, Lieutenant," Tony said in response. Steve took a precautionary step forward, everyone watching Loki with the eyes of a hawk, just in case he went for the scepter again. Art strode up to him and then gestured him to get up with the fingers of her right hand.

"Stand up––and don't try anything funny," Art instructed. Loki, keeping his hands raised, rose to his full height and then extended his wrists towards the female soldier. She began to fix the cuffs around his gauntlet clad wrists, trying to ignore the feeling of his gaze. She heard him chuckle once she finished cuffing his left wrist.

"Not too tight," he drawled with an amused voice. Art looked up with a stoic, unamused face as she began to cuff his right hand. Loki stood taller than her, at about Steve's height, and was looking down at her with ice blue eyes that were both malicious and cunning. He was darkly handsome with pale skin, sharply angled cheekbones, and jet black hair that was slicked out of his face; she'd also been assured he was certifiably crazy, something she was keen to believe was true. He smirked at her before she broke the look they'd been locked in, tightening the cuff on his right hand a bit tighter than necessary. Grasping onto his elbow and placing her other hand on his shoulder, Art situated herself behind him and began to march him towards the quinjet. Steve flanked Loki's other side and Tony led the way, waving to Natasha who was in the co-pilot's seat.

Once they were in the back of the quinjet, Art cuffed Loki's right hand to one of the seats and then strapped him in securely, attempting to ignore the way his eyes stayed firmly locked on her. As the ramp was lifted and they prepared for take-off, Tony and Steve both removed their headgear. Art was again struck by how similar Tony looked to his father. His hair and facial hair were both impeccably kept and groomed, his brown eyes shone with mischief, and they had the exact same nose. Tony approached her and extended a hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Knoll," Tony said. Art slipped her gloved hand into his armor covered one, her fingers brushing against cold metal.

"Consider the sentiment returned, Mr. Stark," she replied. Tony made a face and then waved a hand dismissively.

"Tony, please. Mr. Stark was my father."

"I know," she laughed, a slight smile quirking up the edges of her mouth. Tony made a face of indiscernible emotion; it was odd to think that this woman before him, who looked younger than himself, had personally known his father. They all braced themselves for take-off, holding onto handles that were dangling from the ceiling around the edges of the back. Art's shoulders tensed, though her face remained calm. She was distracted enough to not realize that Loki had smirked at her discomfort, ducking his head to smile down at his lap. Once they were in flight, they each took turns asking him a question or two. Art asked if he was comfortable and got no response, Tony asked if he wanted something to eat––no answer, and Steve asked him what he had been doing in Stuttgart and, again, got silence as a response.

Tired of getting nowhere with the Asgardian, the three gathered together up by the cockpit, silent as the quinjet whirred through the cloudy sky. Suddenly, Tony looked over at Steve with a mock-curious look on his face.

"Is it true that you thought 'fondue' was a slang term for, you know, two people sleeping together?" he asked suddenly. Steve gaped at him, mouth dropping open. "My dad said that was what you thought it was." Art's head snapped up as she asked,

"What?"

"I don't see how that's relevant to the situation," Steve deadpanned, the muscles in his jaws jumping with annoyance and embarrassment. Art's eyebrows jumped up as she noted the defensiveness in his tone; how on _earth_ had she never heard this before? Steve met her gaze and her brows furrowed, a tiny smile working its way onto her face. His eyes fell shut and he sighed heavily through his nose while Tony offered up a casual shrug.

"Oh, you know, just making small-talk, getting to know the man my father practically idolized," Tony said as though it were simple. Art shook her head, categorizing the topic as something to talk about later; because the fact that Steve might've thought 'fondue' meant sex was actually kind of endearing. Voice laced with loving laughter, Art waved a hand through the air, brushing the topic aside.

"As interesting as that subject is, don't you think we should be keeping an eye on this guy?" she asked quietly, gesturing to Loki. Steve nodded once and glanced over his shoulder at the dark haired Asgardian.

"Yes, we should," he agreed. He eyed Loki a moment longer and then shook his head. "I don't like it."

"What? Rock of Ages giving up so easily?" Tony asked.

"I don't remember it being ever that easy. This guy packs a wallop."

"Usually the fellas who pack a wallop are the hardest to take down. They like to put up a fight, show what they can do and exercise their strength," Art added on, thinking back to such adversaries they'd faced before. Tony gave them each a once over taking in their lithe forms and strong stances.

"Still, you're both pretty spry for old timers. What's your thing?" Tony looked directly at Steve. "Pilates?" A pinch formed between Steve's blond brows, confused as to what Tony was getting at and attempting to say.

"What?"

"It's like calisthenics. How 'bout you, Artie-Tartie?" Art's brows flew upwards at the sudden gift of a nickname, meeting Tony's gaze questioningly. "You seem like a yoga type of gal. Well, you both might have missed a couple things, you know, doing time as a Capsicle and a Lieutenant Ice Pop."

Steve and Art shared a look, realizing just how sass Tony had inherited from his father, and just how much the level of it it had spiked. It would also seem that he might have an ego problem. Locking gazes with Tony, Steve became stony faced and unimpressed as he said,

"Fury didn't tell me he was calling _you_ in."

"Yeah, there's a lot of things Fury doesn't tell you."

The two became locked in an intense staring battle, waves of tension rolling off them both. Something about Tony rubbed Steve the wrong way, and Tony seemed intent on making Steve uncomfortable. Art pursed her lips and was about to say something when the quinjet suddenly shook as the atmosphere outside caused it to shift almost violently. Art desperately grabbed onto the doorway of the cockpit, legs bracing themselves apart to keep her balance. A strike of lightning nearly hit the jet, the storm outside picking up drastically.

"Where's this coming from?" Natasha muttered under her breath, flicking a few switches. Thunder growled above them and Loki craned forward in his seat, peering up into the sky through the windows in the quinjet's ceiling. His brows were drawn together and, as Art stared at him, she swore she could have seen concern quirk the edges of his mouth into a frown.

"What's the matter?" Steve asked the Asgardian. "Scared of a little thunder?" Loki leaned back in his seat but kept his eyes intently trained on the sky.

"I'm not overly fond of what follows," he told them as lightning flashed again. A crease formed on Art's forehead as she tried to piece together what he meant.

"Lightning follows thunder… so what follows lightning?" she asked. Her answer came in a loud bang from on top the quinjet's roof. Everyone shrank back in surprise, staring up at the source of the sound. Tony grabbed for his helmet and activated it, slipping it on his head while Steve made a dash for his cowl. Thankful she didn't have any kind of headgear, Art tugged her gun out of its holster and flicked off the safety. Tony walked over to a control panel on the wall and pressed a button, which activated the ramp to drop open.

"What the hell?" Art shouted. Simultaneously, Steve called,

"What are you doing?"

Something––no, some_one_ dropped onto the ramp. The man standing at the back of the quinjet wore flowing, flapping red cape, had a head of long, blond hair, and he toted a large square hammer in his right hand. Loki was gaping at this man in concern as he began to march towards him, mouth set into a firm, unhappy line. Tony made a move to eject the blond man back into the night sky with his repulsors, the man thrust his hammer into Tony's chest, sending him flying backwards. Now free to do what he'd come there to do, the man marched forward and ripped Loki out of his confines, holding him by the throat. Marching Loki towards the ramp, the blond twirled the hammer around and then flew straight into the night, disappearing in a flash of lightning.

"Now there's that guy…" Tony muttered, staggering to his feet.

"Another Asgardian?" Natasha asked as they tried to get the systems under control again. Art's arms fell limply to her sides, shocked at what she'd just witnessed. Hesitantly, she put her gun back in its holster, almost expecting someone else to come soaring through the sky and into the back of the quinjet.

"That guy's a friendly?" Steve demanded incredulously.

"Doesn't matter. If he frees Loki, or kills him, the Tesseract's lost," Tony said, making for the ramp.

"Stark! We need a plan of attack!"  
"I have a plan," he paused at the gaping maw at the back of the quinjet, "_attack_." And with that he, too, disappeared into the night. With a grunt of frustration, Steve grabbed a parachute from one of the supply shelves and began to pull it on. Art shut her eyes and held up a hand, trying to sort through something in her head. Coulson said Loki was from Asgard, and he came from norse mythology… and Loki had said he wasn't fond of what followed lightning… and, apparently, that blond fella followed.

"Oh, my god," Art muttered, throwing her arms out in disbelief. "That was _Thor?_" Natasha laughed flatly, which was enough of a confirmation for Art.

"You might want to sit this one out, Cap," Natasha told him from the cockpit. Steve was fastening a belt across his chest, having pulled the parachute straps over his shoulders.

"Don't see how I can," he said.

"These guys come from legend, they're basically _gods_."

"There's only one god, ma'am, and i'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that." Steve turned and grabbed his shield.

"No, wait, Steve, you said it yourself we need a plan––" Art rushed to say hand extended towards Steve, but found herself talking to empty space. He had already leapt from the quinjet, plummeting back towards earth. Her hand dropped to her side and she sighed. "––of attack."

Art clenched her teeth and felt the muscles in her jaw tense. Tony had decided to act recklessly, flinging himself into battle without a plan, and that had frazzled Steve enough to essentially do the same. Now _she_ was left to try and stitch a plan together and stop the boys from ripping each other apart, something she had quite a lot of experience in. She'd broken up many a drunken––and completely sober––fight back in the military. Muttering under her breath, she snagged a parachute and began to fasten it to herself.

"Is there a way for you to track any of us?" Art asked as she tugged at the buckles. There was blatant annoyance in her voice, and the way her left eyebrow was quirked spoke of the same emotion. Natasha held out a radio.

"We'll track the signal off this," she told Art. Taking the radio, Art attached it to her belt and turned to face the back of the quinjet. With another sigh, Art locked her gaze on the darkness of the sky and began to run. In a matter of seconds, she was sailing through the cold night air, listening to thunder growl in the clouds, and her heart pound in her ears. It looked like it was time for Lieutenant Liberty to save the day… or at least stop three or four idiots from tearing into one another.

_**Afterword:**_ _**So it took me literally forever to figure out what her suit looked like, but there you have it! If I were a better artist, I'd draw it/draw Art in it, but, alas, my skill set is limited in the drawing department. I hope you guys could picture it :) **_

_**Review Replies!**_

**grapejuice101:** _We get even more Loki/Art interaction in the next one, which'll be especially fun. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _She met Tony! A bit anti-climactic, but we'll get to see how their dynamic is; it'll probably be a tad strained for a bit. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Daughter of Artemis06:** _I'm glad you've enjoyed the start of this story! It will be/is a Cap/OC story, as it is a continuation of my previous story Dawn of Change. I hope you stick around to read more! Thanks again!_

**Alice Gone Madd:** _We'll see if he gets those signed… or if he can at least get one of them to sign them :) And Spiderman may pop up post-Avengers! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _Just in the way Steve always gets called Captain, Art will always be called Lieutenant; I feel like people would take it upon themselves to actually go out of their way to call her such :P I think that the Hulk would probably help Art out if/when she needed it––though, initially, he might not be sure what to do since he'd have to figure out how Bruce felt about her. You read my mind about her talking to Loki. I've had that scene planned since mid-way through the last story. And cutsey stuff will be in a chapter or two, 'cause, for now, it's gotta get serious. I'm glad you always look forward to the chapters; I always hate to end them, cause I just wanna keep writing! And, I'd make them longer, but then there'd be less movie to write each chapter, and we've only just started this story! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I'm super glad none of the stuff I've done to incorporate Art seems forced; I'm always worried some of the stuff seems out of place. Next chapter we see more of Loki and how they plan on handling that situation and whatnot. I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _I had fun figuring out how to write the fight scene and the scene that followed; I hope you enjoyed reading it! Thank you again for the lovely review!_

**RJNorth:** _Loki and Art get to interact more next chapter, and that's gonna be fun; we'll also get more interactions with Bruce, Nat, Tony, and Thor soon. Not to mention Steve, she and Steve need to have some alone time among all this chaos. And she might just meet Foggy, 'cause that would be hilarious. He'd be all like 'Matt, dude, do you know who your friend is!?' And don't worry about freaking out, I do it all the time! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _Thank you! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!_

**Tanjatailor:** _I'm super happy you're enjoying the story so far! And thank you so much for the corrections on the German; I assumed that there must have been a feminine form of the word, but I had no clue what it would have been. I'll go back and make the correct changes! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story! Thanks again!_

_And thank you to those who have added this story to favorites/follows, it means a lot!_

_Coming up next chapter (which is already written, huzzah!) we get sarcasm, Loki interactions, a scolding from Art, and a brand new plan on dealing with our favorite, dark haired Asgardian. I've been writing so much of this story, and I just can't stop, ahhhh! I'm also considering making a playlist accessable to you all of music that is both used in this story and that I think fits it/what I listen to while writing. What do you guys think? Also, considering a Jurassic World story, at the moment... but that's a digression!_

_Thank you again for taking the time to read! Thank you so much, guys!_

_~Mary_


	9. Tactics

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

9\. Tactics

A small cloud of dirt rose up from the ground as Art touched down, the parachute fluttering down behind her. She quickly slipped out of the parachute harness and left it on the ground; looking around with narrowed eyes, she tried to pinpoint where everyone had disappeared to. She was fortunate enough to have landed on some sort of mountain that had numerous outcroppings that looked over the night darkened forest. Art followed the natural pathway that wound the way up the mountainside, her footsteps the only sound in the cool silence of the night. Annoyance buzzed at the back of her skull like a singular angry bee. Art had known Steve for quite some time, and she always knew him to be very organized and, like the song had once said, he was 'the star spangled man with a plan.' Apparently this time, he was the star spangled man with_out_ a plan; or a deliberately withheld plan, which was the possibility that annoyed her the most.

Just as she reached the cliff that had been her goal, she completely froze. Seated contently atop a rock was Loki, who was watching something down in the forest below. He looked as though he were leisurely spectating his favorite sporting event, his hands clasped in his lap, his face cooly composed, and a tiny smirk present at the corner of his mouth. Art, who had yet to be noticed by the Asgardian, looked around to see if, perhaps, Thor or Steve or Tony were present to see that this man––their _prisoner_––didn't escape. But, alas, Loki sat alone; such was the reason he looked so contented. The annoyed buzz in the back of Art's head elevated. Marching forward, the sound of her footsteps caught Loki's attention. His head turned to face her, and he arched an eyebrow curiously.

"Are you here to capture me again?" he inquired before smirking and turning his attention back to the forest. "Or are you here to watch the show?"

Art slowly approached the very edge of the cliff, keeping a wary eye on Loki, who was full on smiling now. Following his gaze, Art found that there was a small clearing just below the mountain, in which stood Thor and Tony, facing off. Tony turned on his heel and started to walk away, only to be struck in the back by Thor's hammer. As the billionaire sailed across the clearing, Art sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between both her fingers.

"Dear god…" she muttered under her breath. Loki chuckled and reclined back against the rocks, turning his attention to Art instead of the fight occuring beneath them. He watched as the muscles in her jaw jumped in a clear sign of annoyance.

"Does the fight not entertain you?"

"Not when we're supposed to be escorting a criminal to confinement," Art deadpanned. Loki arched an eyebrow at the soldier as she stepped away from the cliff face and began to dig through the pouches of her belt.

"Is that what I am? A criminal?" Loki inquired in a flat voice.

"Damn straight."

"Are you going to incarcerate me, Lieutenant?"

"You sure you aren't psychic? 'Cause you've just read my mind," Art said sarcastically, withdrawing a length of rope from one of her belt pouches. "Stand." Loki chuckled and rose to his feet, holding out his wrists compliantly. She began to knot the rope around his left wrist when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw his right hand reach for her face. Her hand snapped out and caught him around the wrist, staring at him wide eyed. "The hell do you think you're doing?"

"Your cheek…" he murmured, eyes trained on the curve of her left cheek, "it was bleeding not but an hour ago; yet, there is hardly a scratch present now… how curious… you heal quickly."

"Yeah, I do."

"Are you always so curt, Lieutenant?"

"Do I have to gag you, too? I'm not beyond that." Art shoved his right hand down and continued to bind his wrists; once each one was bound seperately, she bound them both together. Loki chuckled and raised his head, staring off into the distance as he allowed her to tie his wrists together.

"I am inclined to believe you in this instance," he chuckled. Leaving a length of rope that was essentially a leash, Art wrapped it around her knuckles and kept tight hold of it. Her other hand was once again placed on his shoulder, and she walked just behind him as she started to lead him down the mountain.

"Wanna tell me what you're doing with the Tesseract?" Art asked when they were half-way through their walk. Loki's lips quirked to the side, but he said nothing. "Alright. Wanna tell me where Agent Barton is?" A bigger smirk and silence as an answer. "Oh, so we're playing the silent game again? You were so _chatty_ a moment ago."

Loki arched an eyebrow and kept walking without struggle, complaint, or resistance. Art pursed her lips and steered them around a boulder, realizing just how bizarre the situation was. Just like she and Steve had said, usually the guys who packed a wallop _wanted_ to fight, wanted to pack that punch… but Loki seemed perfectly and completely contented to cooperate with them to a certain extent. Loki had certain advantages over Art––such as height and whatever magic it was he had been able to exercise in Stuttgart––but he didn't choose to use them. All he did was smirk and watch her with cat-like attentiveness. She hadn't a clue that a plan was brewing inside his head.

Their walk towards the clearing was silent and uneventful till a blast of energy that threw both Art and Loki to the ground as all the trees around them were bent backwards, trunks snapping. It was like an explosion had gone off. Art grunted as chunks of tree rained down on them, a fine layer of dirt and dust falling over them like a mist. She pushed herself up and narrowed her eyes into their misty, foggy surroundings. She staggered to her feet and Loki doing the same with a little more difficulty because of his bound hands; he kicked a branch off one of his legs and then rose to his full height.

"It would appear that Thor has had a temper tantrum," he muttered distastefully. Art sighed and grabbed the rope again, towing the Asgardian behind her like a dog or a horse. They clamoured over fallen trees, stumps, and uprooted roots, finally coming to what had been the initial clearing. Thor, Steve, and Tony all stood in a triangle, breathing hard as they exchanged glares. Tony's helmet opened itself purely for the purpose of joining said glaring contest.

"Are we done here?" Steve had asked.

"You all may be, but _I'm_ not! Are you all _insane?_" Art demanded to know as she Strode into the clearing, Loki trailing behind her, still bound up by rope. The three men took a break from glaring at each other to turn their attention to Art, who was practically seething. She thrust her finger in Thor's direction, surprising him that she was directing her anger his way. "I don't know what's flipped your lid, and I honestly don't care right now." She pointed at Tony. "_You_ should have waited for a plan. I–I don't care if you thought one thing or another, if you had waited, this entire fight would have either not happened or have been less severe." Her head whipped around and she glared heavily at Steve, who met the look with a carefully composed look of his own. Art had gotten the scolding voice down-pat when she was a Sergeant, having berrated different groups of men on differing occaisons. She was typically so nice and swee that her hard-toned, angry voice typically made them feel at least a little guilty. "And _you, Captain Rogers_, should have told me your plan before you dove out into the night––if you even _had_ a plan. You have commanded an entire _garrison_, Steve, you know you can't let your head get to you."

"Artie––"

"_Oh, _don't Artie me, Steve. Do you want to know what the worst bit about this is?" Art pointed up to a cliff face that was visible from where they stood. "You left a man who nearly subjucated an entire crowd of people, a man who is clearly intent on doing some sort of wrong in this world, _alone on a cliff_. You're lucky that he didn't run away or _kill you_! For god's sake… you all acted like _children_…" Art unclipped the radio from her belt and thrust it into Steve's chest. "Agent Romanoff contacted me a couple minutes ago, she's landed quarter of a mile north. It should be an easy walk now that you've all made the forest a field."

Art angrily strutted in the aforementioned direction, dragging Loki along as he smirked in amusement. The other three men stared at her as she left. They were quiet for a moment before Tony broke the silence and looked over at Steve.

"So… I take it she wins all of the arguments?"

OOOO

When they returned to the Helicarrier, Loki was properly cuffed and escorted by thirteen or so armed S.H.I.E.L.D. security guards to a holding cell. Art, Steve, Thor, Natasha, and Bruce all gathered on the bridge, sitting or standing around the large table just behind command center. The glass table top doubled as an interactive surface, allowing a video feed of the holding cell to appear. Loki was locked into a large, circular glass cell that was heavily monitored and completely isolated. Loki stood in the center watching Fury stride into the room and over to a control panel.

"_In case it's unclear, you try to escape,_" Fury said, typing something in and opening the casing over a particular button. "_You so much as __**scratch**_ _that glass…_" He punched in a few more things on a screen. The whirring sound of wind roared to life over the audio feed. Loki strode over to the edge of the cell and peered down through the glass window. "_Thirty-thousand feet, straight down in a steel trap. You get how that works?_" Fury shut the casing and punched a few more things in on the screen. The wind died down. He then gestured to the Asgardian. "_Ant_." He gestured to the button that would activate the sequence that would drop the cell. "_Boot_."

Loki chuckled, a sound that came off as meanacing and evil over the intercom. Art placed a hand over her mouth as they watched him saunter a few steps backwards, extending his arms to gesture to his confinements. He was truly acting like this whole situation was a joke to him. A great, big joke that he found endless amusement in.

"_It's an impressive cage. Not built, I think, for me,_" Loki deduced, dropping his arms.  
"_Built for something a lot __**stronger**_ _than you,_" came Fury's response.

"_Oh, I heard…_" Loki turned to look directly into the camera that everyone was monitoring the interrogation through. He smiled. "_A mindless beast… makes play he's still a man._" Bruce looked down at his hands, which rested atop the back of the chair, knowing full well they were talking about him. Thor, the ony other one of them that was standing, had his back turned, not wishing to watch what transpired. Listening was enough, painful enough… "_How __**desperate**_ _are you that you call on such lost creatures to defend you?_"

"_How __**desperate**_ _am I? You threaten my world with war, you steal a force you can't hope to control, you talk about peace, and you kill 'cause it's fun._" They watched Loki stride up to the glass and face-off with Fury, both stern faced. "_You have made me __**very**_ _desperate. You might not be glad that you did._"

"_Ooh…_" Loki hummed. "_It must __**burn**_ _you to have come so close. To have the Tesseract, to have power… __**unlimited power… **__and for what? A warm light for all of mankind to share, and then to be reminded what __**real **__power is._" The two faced off silently for a moment before Fury chuckled and began to make for the exit.

"_Yeah, well, let me know if 'real power' wants a magazine or something…_"

They watched as Loki turned to face the camera once more… he smirked at them and the feed went black. Art rubbed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. They all sat in disgruntled silence, Loki's words echoing through their heads.

"He really grows on you, doesn't he?" Bruce asked jokingly.

"You have no idea; try talking to him for more than a minute, it's absolutey riveting," Art said, playing along. Bruce allowed himself a small smile at her comment. "A right chatterbox."

"Loki's gonna drag this out," Steve pointed out, bringing the conversation back to a more serious tone. "So, Thor, what's his play?" The blond Asgardian, who had been staring at nothing particular with his back turned to them, began to explain what he knew.

"He has an army called the Chitauri. They're not of Asgard nor any world known. He means to lead them against your people. They will win him the earth. In return, I suspect, for the Tesseract.

"An army," Steve said, face stoic, voice deadly serious. But there was something in his eyes that just spoke of disbelief. "From outerspace?" He and Art exchanged a look; everyone else around the table seemed to think this a viable, explainable option, and that just seemed down-right crazy.

"Sounds like the plot to a radio show," Art commented flatly. She could feel a headache coming on, and coming on fast.

"So, he's building another portal," Bruce figured. "That's what he needs Erik Selvig for."

"Selvig?" Thor asked, sounding thrown off guard. His face was composed in a look caught somewhere between horror and concern.

"He's an astrophsysicist."

"He's a friend."  
"Loki's got him under some sort of spell. Along with one of ours," Natasha explained, leaning forward on the table, face stern. Art and Natasha's thoughts were drawn to the mutual friend they both didn't know they shared. Natasha seemed especially eager to get him back, make sure he was unharmed and back to his normal self.

"I wanna know why Loki let us take him. He's not leading an army from here," Steve put out there, nodding vaguely to their heavily armed, guarded, and staffed surroundings. Art nodded in agreement, leaning forward in her seat. Steve may have acted stupidly earlier, and she may still have been annoyed, but they were on a mission, and everything else could be put on hold for now. This was what they did, after all.

"He was being… surprisingly cooperative when I got him off that mountain. I mean, he willingly put himself into captivity _twice_ tonight, and not once did he make it difficult. It was all smooth sailing, all cooperative… there's gotta be something behind that," Art said in reference to the easy walk she'd taken with Loki. Despite the valid points both soldiers raised, Bruce shook his head, lips pulling into a disagreeable frown.

"I don't think we should be focusing on Loki. The guy's brain is a bag full of cats, you could smell crazy on him.

"Have care of how you speak," Thor said sharply, taking a few steps closer to the table. "Loki is beyond reason, but he _is_ of Asgard. And he is my brother."

Natasha gave the Asgardian a dark look.

"He killed eighty people in two days."

Thor took a moment of pause before offering up a weak shrug.

"He's adopted," he replied as though it explained it all. There was a lift to the end of his voice, however, that made it seem that he was unsure that was even a valid excuse.

"I think it's about the mechanics," Bruce interjected. "Irridium, what do they need the irridium for?"

"It's a stabalizing agent," Tony said he walked in with Coulson, taking a moment to turn to the agent and continue the conversation they'd been having. Art could see Steve's hand clench into a fist, see the muscles in his jaw tense. Steve had apparently already decided upon his dislake for Howard's son, but Art had yet to make a solidified judgement. Steve, while friends with Tony's father, hadn't exactly been his biggest of fans initially; Art had always found Howards company pleasant, if not a bit flirtatious. Tony was now dressed in casual clothing, the Iron Man suit put away for later. "_Means_ that the portal won't collapse in on itself, like it did at S.H.I.E.L.D." Tony rounded the table in the silence that followed his entrance. "No hard feelings, Point Break. You've got a mean swing." Tony patted Thor's bare, bulging bicep as he passed, earning a most displeased look from the taller, blond fellow. "_Also_, it means the portal can open as wide, and stay open as long as Loki wants." Turning away from the rest of the team, he walked towards Fury's command station and looked out over the crew seated at their stations below them. "Uh… raise the mizzen-mast, ship the top-sails." The crew members paused and looked up at him in confusion. Now with all the attention on him, Tony flung an arm out to point to the right. "_That_ man is playing Galaga! Thought we wouldn't notice, but we did!"

Art leaned towards Steve and whispered,

"Do you know what… Galaga is?"

"No…"

Tony covered his left eye with his hand and then tried looking between all of the screens on either side of him.

"How does Fury even _see_ these?" he asked. Maria Hill, who had joined them on the bridge, crossed her arms and fixed the billionaire with an unamused look.

"He _turns_."

"Sounds exhausting. The rest of the raw materials Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily. Only _major_ componant he still needs is a power source…" Tony stared adjusting things on the screens, clicking and swiping, pulling up files here and there, "of high energy density. Something to… _kick-start_ the cube."

"When did _you_ become an expert in thermonuclear astrophsysics?" Maria deadpanned. Tony, completely seriously replied with.

"Last night. The packet. Selvig's notes. The… Extraction Theory papers? Am I the only one who did the reading?"

"Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?" Steve asked. He spared a glance Art's way to find that she had furrowed her brows, a look of mild confusion gleaming in her eyes.

"He's got to heat the cube to a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier," Bruce said.

"Unless Selvig has figured out how to stabalize the quantum tunneling effect," Tony proposed.

"Well, if he could do that he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet."

"_Finally_, someone who speaks English!" Tony exclaimed, gesturing to Bruce.

"Is _that_ what just happened?" Steve asked quietly as the two men behind him shook hands.

"It's good to meet you, Dr. Banner. You're work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And… I'm a huge fan of the way you… loose control and turn into a enormous green rage monster," Tony said seriously. Art covered her face with both hands, flinching at the comment that made Bruce look down at his shoes self-consciously.

"Thanks…" he replied softly.

"Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube. I was hoping you might join him," Fury said, passing through the bridge doors.

"Let's start with that stick of his," Steve suggested, joining the fray of the conversation again. "It may be magical, but…"

"It works surprisingly like a HYDRA weapon," Art finished.

"I don't know about that, but it _is_ powered by the cube, and I'd like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys," Fury intoned, sounding heavily troubled by what had happened.

"Monkeys?" Thor asked with a crease forming between his brows. "I do not understand."

"I do!" Steve said excitedly, pointing at Fury. Art smiled in a giddy, almost childlike manner. "_We_ do!" Tony rolled his eyes at their excitement. Both soldiers had spent months not understanding what it was people were refering to or talking about, but flying monkeys? That was _definitely_ something they could get a grasp on. "We… we understood that reference."

"The Wizard of Oz," Art threw in for good measure. She and Steve were smiling proudly, even if they'd intentionally dated themselves and basically put it out there that they understood very few references. Tony and Bruce left the room, agreeing to start their work in the lab, chatting quietly on their way out.

"So, what do we do now?" Steve asked, shrugging off the smile and briging himself back to the situation presently at hand. Thor crossed his arms and turned to Fury, expecting him to give some sort of instruction.

"We wait for Stark and Banner to get a signal on the cube," Fury said, rapping his knuckles against the table top. "Once we track that down, we've got Barton and Selvig in our line of sight."

"What use is it to have them in our sights if we don't know how to get them out of Loki's control, though?" Art asked, presenting a valid point. Fury paced a short distance, hands clasped behind his back.

"We lock them up till he willingly tells us how to get them back." Art laughed quietly and rose to her feet, crossing both arms over her chest.

"Does it still count as willing if you're threatening him? Why don't we just… talk to the guy?"

"Loki hasn't talked to any of us," Natasha pointed out. Art quietly bit the inside of her cheek, rubbing her fingers together in thought. There was a pause in conversation, in which Steve watched Art's brows pinch together.

"He talked to me," she said. Everyone turned to look at her. "When we were walking down the mountain, he talked to me."

"What? Did you step on his toes?" Fury asked sarcastically. Art just shrugged.

"I dunno, maybe I've just got one of those faces."

"So, what, you're just going to talk him off his high horse and everything will be fine and dandy?" Fury asked sarcastically. Art threw her arms out in exasperation, staring at the director with a stoic face.

"Wouldn't hurt to try. You threatened him with what is, most definitely, certain death, and he didn't say a word. He spoke in riddles. Maybe if we just tried _talking_ to him, plain and simple, he might give up some sort of information," Art proposed.

"She does have a point. It might pay off to try," Coulson agreed quietly, from off to the side. Art gestured to him with a thankful wave of the hand.

Fury leaned forward, placing both hands on the table, fixing Art with a heavy, disapproving look. She mimicked his stance across the table, meeting his eyes with an undettered gaze. The man shook his head and chuckled deep in his chest.

"This is a man who is past reason, Lieutenant. Your words, no matter how perfumed, sweetened, or flirtatious aren't gonna get him down to earth."

"Look, I don't know this fella, but what's the harm in trying? I'm sure there was a time where he _could_ be talked down, where he _did_ listen to reason… but has everyone here forgotten that there are other battle tactics that _don't_ involve weapons? Involve threats or death or the promise of war? There are dozens of things that have happened throughout history that could have been prevented if someone just _talked_ with someone else. Our words don't have to be gentle, our tones don't have to be soft––it's still an interrogation, for god's sake––but it would be a mistake if we didn't try," Art lectured in an empassioned tone. Fury shook his head slowly at her; he'd clearly taken in everything she'd said, but he was simply disagreeing with it in that moment.

"You know what? Go ahead, talk to him, see what difference it'll make. Just don't come crying to us when you realize you've wasted your time," Fury prompted her, gesturing to the door. Art narrowed her eyes and pushed away from the table, gave Fury a mock salute and made for the door, ignoring the tension she was leaving behind.

_**Afterword:**_ _**We're getting into the thick of things! Things ramp up real quick in the next couple chapters… and, oh, how much fun I've had writing it all! I hope you're looking forward to seeing what happens next chapter with Art and Loki. I've got… four or so chapters pre-written, so that's also exciting!**_

_**Review replies!**_

**grapejuice101: **_We get to see her interact with Thor… next chapter, I think. It's gonna be good. We also get more Art and Tony interactions next time. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**tkczombie:** _Nat probably didn't know that Art and Clint were friends––she might've known that Clint was aquaintances with her, but probably didn't have the time to talk to him while they were on missions to get the whole lowdown. And Tony totally has more of a soft spot for Art, but it's definitely not going to stop him for making snide comments and the like. I'd like to chalk it up to him probably having a crush on her when he was very small. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _Art and Tony are gonna have a bit of a bumpy time becoming friends, but it'll come around :) And we'll see what Loki has planned in a chapter or two… I hope you're looking forward to seeing their little chat next chapter. Thanks again! Hope you enjoyed!_

**darck ben:** _Thank you! I hope you've been enjoying it!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _Thank you! I was really excited when I finally wrote a suit description that I like; and I'm glad her dialogue seems well integrated. It's hard for me to figure out what she'd say and when she'd say it, becuase she __**would**_ _say a lot of stuff, but she'd probably say it in large chunks. Also, she totally leaves the one-liners to Steve. I hope you've been enjoying the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _Thank you! I feel like Art is totally done with everyone by the end of this chapter and that's probably going to be her attitude for a little while, 'cause the whole atmosphere of the Avengers is kind of tense for a while. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _Oh, she definitely makes sure someone she doesn't like sticks to calling her Lieutenant. And Bruce, the sweetheart, would definitely help her with sciencey stuff. There's also a bonding point for them that I've got specified in my head, but it has to stay secret for a while and I just… can't even xD We get more Loki next chapter! So excited! Chapter after next chapter is filled with cuddles. Sort of. It's a more calm chapter, I should say, with some cuddles thrown in. I'm also glad you like the suit; I hope you enjoyed the chapter and the new cliffhanger! Thanks again!_

**dany1114:** _This particular incarnation doesn't have the tails; though, later on they might come back. This uniform is more… streamlined, I guess, since it's sort of like a combination of the Commando uniform and Steve's. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _If she was 500% done at the end of last chapter she's 1000% done by the end of this one. But, of course, she sort of has to be, since the team isn't really a team till the end of the movie. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**MF 22:** _I'm aware that Steve didn't blindly attack and that he didn't act the aggressor, but Art doesn't. We all know what happens, but she doesn't. In her head, as someone who is used to him giving orders and always telling her the plan of action, to have him immediately jump into action comes off as him not having the plan. The general atmosphere that they're dealing with in that moment––and for a good while in the events of the Avengers––is fairly tense and everyone sort of jumps to conclusions, which is what Art does both last time and this time; though, in hindsight, she probably realizes she was wrong. But, thank you for the review! It gave me a chance to look at that scene from a different point of view :)_

**Gara Zane:** _The tension between Art and Steve's gonna be present for a little while longer. I feel like they can't really escape the events of this movie without being sort of peeved at each other at least once. I'm really glad that you enjoyed reading/rereading the chapters! Also, that Jurassic World story is up and running :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**oXxgeorgiaxXo:** _I hope that exams went well for you! :) But thank you so much, it feels great to know that you're enjoying the chapters! Thanks again!_

**Schnitzel:** _The reason that Art doesn't have another weapon is mostly because I couldn't figure out what it would be––probably a rifle, actually––and how she would carry it. She may get a second, complimentary weapon like a rifle or something of the sort after the events of the Avengers because she's definitely not gonna be happy with just a pistol since she's used to working with one or more guns. We get more Nat and Art next chapter and more Loki as well :) Also, love the suggestion of Tony shortening Lieutenant to 'Lieu.' He's definitely going to do that. Thank you again, I hope you enjoyed!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _Thank you! I hope that this chapter was as good as the last! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _Drama is the key word for the next couple chapters. Drama and feels. That's the theme! And I'm glad Art's suit is working out for ya, I really enjoyed writing about it! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _Tony and Art get to talk more next time… how well it goes… well… you'll have to stick around and see, ahaha! And I'll have to figure out when to put in the chapter where she meets Foggy, 'cause I totally want that to happen now! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Anna:** _I'm glad you like Art's uniform! And Tony will have an absolute field day showing Art and Steve AC/DC and all his other favorite bands. I would love to visit Stuttgart/Germany in general; I've got family ties over there and have been trying to figure out a chance to get over there and spend a couple days. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those who added this to their favorites/follows, it means a lot!**_

_**Next chapter is gonna be a good one, if I do say so myself. Lots of Art interacting with her new teammates and, of course, Loki, which'll be fun, 'cause we all know Loki. I'm really excited to get these next couple chapters up, because a LOT is going to start happening! Thank you all for taking the time to read the chapter! You're all amazing!**_

_**~Mary**_


	10. A Hard Day's Night

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

10\. A Hard Day's Night

The room that Loki's cell was located in was actually quite chilly in temperature, probably due to the fact there was an enormous steel trap that accessed the outside. Art kept her eyes directed at her feet as she walked the catwalks that edged the room, deciding not to look into Loki's cell just yet. For some reason, despite the fact that she was in the room with a very dangerous man, she felt calmer than she had for the majority of the evening. Everyone on the Helicarrier seemed far too eager to jump straight into battle, and that grated on her nerves some. They weren't exactly at war just yet; precautions could still be taken in attempts to prevent it. She may not have been paying attention to the Asgardian, but the Asgardian was paying attention to her.

Loki's sly gaze followed her as she walked. There was a disgruntled tension in her shoulders, a look of contemplation etched across her features. She was still dressed in her garishly colored uniform, but she was alone again. But were _they_ truly alone with all the cameras? Such a concept didn't seem to bother her, just as it hadn't bothered him. Art finally looked up as she approached the door of the cell, stopping about a foot from the glass.

"To what do I owe the honor of speaking with you?" he asked, slowly stepping towards the glass.

"Hardly an honor," Art replied, crossing her arms, face carefully blank. Loki arched a brow and smirked.

"Has someone wounded your pride?"

"I've come to speak with you, not talk about my personal life."

"Again, I am honored."

"No you're not," she said, shrugging as if she was indifferent. "Listen, Loki––"

"Oh, such informality!" Loki drawled with a grin and a laugh. Art arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

"You got a last name? Should I call you Mr. Asgard?" When the response she received was a chuckle, she continued on with what she was saying. "I'm not here to be your friend, but that doesn't mean we can't have a friendly conversation. All I want to do is talk." Loki gestured to her with one of his long-fingered hands, a charming smile pulling his lips over her teeth. The look _should_ have been charming, but it appeared more snake-like than anything else.

"Then, please, continue speaking. You have a very pleasing voice to listen to." Art chuckled and crossed her arms, letting her weight shift so one hip jutted out to the side.

"Flattery gets you nowhere. The truth, however…" Loki and Art locked gazes and stood in silence for a good, long moment. Loki's gaze was intense, scrutinizing, powerful. But she didn't flinch or shy away, she simply matched that power and that intensity, giving the clear message she wasn't about to back down. "Where's Agent Barton?"

"That is what you wish to speak of? But we were having such a lovely conversation," Loki teased, beginning to aimlessly pace the width of the cell. Art chuckled under her breath, smiling for the first time since she came in.

"I thought I said we weren't here to be friends, Loki. But, you see, Barton _is_ my friend, and I would very much like to know what you've done to him," Art said, voice becoming flat. Loki chuckled and pointed at her, approaching the glass again with a slow, cat-like prowl.

Everything about him screamed predator. It made one's fight or flight instincts kick in, made anxiety spike… made whoever faced him want to run away. But Art had faced predators before, faced adversaries who made her heart pound, and she knew that suppressing the fight or flight instinct was necessary, imperative to standing her ground. So as Loki fixed her with a sly gaze, smiling dangerously, Art held her chin higher and let him approach without faltering a step back herself. He stopped inches away from the glass, his breath just barely fogging up against it.

"So selfless…" he hummed. "But that is, I suppose, one of your defining qualities, is it not? The female warrior who threw herself into the throngs of war simply to protect her home and family. The woman who would do _anything_ for anyone she loves no matter the consequences for her. In case you could not tell, Barton has told me quite a bit about you. And to see how you threw yourself in front of your Captain…"

"The world could do without me, they can't do without him."

"And humble as well. How funny it is to have someone so inspiring and strong feel so weak. You feel out of place, Artemesia. You feel as though you don't belong… not in this world, not with those around you… because you do _not_ belong in this world. You are a woman out of time! You are vastly out of place, you are a disruptive factor, an asset that was never meant to be here," Loki drawled in a near growl.

Art stared at him for a long moment with nostrils flaring and her teeth sinking into the insides of her cheeks. He was trying to get into her head. He was trying to use whatever it was he knew about her to rile her up, break her down, reduce her to a puddle of fears and tears like he must have done to so many other people. And the worst thing about that was the fact that it was working. The room suddenly felt stifling and Art felt like she was being choked. To hear her insecurities recited to her face by someone she didn't know was unsettling. It horrible to hear those words pass through Loki's lips, to hear his accented voice slip those thoughts back into her head after the night she'd had. Fury would be so smug… he was right, there was no reasoning with this man. There was nothing Art could do to make him see reason or tell her a word about what she wanted to know. It was foolish of her to think she could. Turning on her heel, she made to move for the door, but Loki spoke again.

"_That_, my dear, is what I like about you. You know you aren't a hero; you know you don't belong. That is something you and I have in common." Art's fingers curled into fists, her fingernails pushing into palms of her gloves. Loki had narrowed his eyes and his lips were pulling into a snarl. "We are both _rejected_ for who we are. Were you not… _ridiculed_ for being a woman who wanted to fight? Did your people not force you to step down and do the least that you could do? Reduced to a mere assistant, running pointless errands to keep you busy and out of trouble. _Oh_, but you rebelled… you showed them just what it was you could do." Art turned her head to look over her shoulder at him, jaw tense. "Do you not see the similarities between you and I?"

Spinning back around and marching up to the glass of the cage Loki was imprisoned in, Art thrust her finger into the glass, right where his chest would have been if there were no barrier between them. Something in her had snapped. She'd felt it. The comparisons he was making made her seethe, made her want to scream and throw her fist into his face again.

"Like hell I do! I am _not_ like you! You kill people, _I_ save them! You live for war, and I only want peace. We are not the same; and we never will be. _I_ am a good person," she hissed angrily. Loki's face was composed in a look of impassiveness, a single eyebrow arching to betray an emotion. Amusement. He was always so goddamn amused.

"Dear Artemesia… Humans have always craved subjugation, and do you not see that you are a living example of that? You are a good _soldier_. You do what you are told––and I admire that." Loki's icy eyes watched as her fist rose and curled tighter, the metal pieces inside her gloves locking.

"Remember what Fury said? One scratch on this glass and you're _gone_." Loki chuckled, turned, and began to walk towards his bunk, smirking at her over his shoulder as he went.

"So cruel for someone who claims they live to save lives; are you quite sure we are not cut from the same cloth?"

Art stared at his back as he moved away and let her fist drop to her side. Tears of anger and frustration bit at her eyes and flecks of spittle speckled the glass in front of her mouth. Looking down at her feet, she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and moved for the door. The room seemed like it was closing in on her, strangling her in the tight, tense confines of the words Loki had so craftily put together.

Once she was out of the room, Art yanked her gloves off and then reached up and unbuttoned the top of her uniform as she strode through the corridors. She let it slouch around her waist, leaving her in the long-sleeved, sweat wicking blue undershirt she'd been provided with. The change in air felt liberating, and she could feel her nerves and emotions calming. After finding the nearest kitchen, Art began brewing a pot of coffee, hiding her face in her hands as the caffeinated liquid dripped out of the machine. Art slapped her gloves onto the countertop and bit into her lip angrily. What had she been thinking? Everything she'd learned in briefing about Loki should have discouraged her from going to talk to him. He was a manipulative bastard with a 'silver tongue,' who had managed to brainwash two of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best men.

The coffee finished brewing and Art went about distracting herself by searching the refrigerator for any half-and-half; there was some at the very back, brand new and unopened. After digging it up to the front and pouring far too much into her coffee mug, she went on a quiet quest for sugar, listening to the dull but present hum of the Helicarrier's engines. She had been so distracted and lost in her own thoughts that she hadn't noticed that someone had sat down at the table just behind her, waiting for her to finish what she was doing in order to talk.

"Don't let him get to you," said Natasha, who had her hands clasped together. Art jumped slightly and turned around as coffee nearly splashed over the edge of her mug, which bared the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo across the white porcelain. Natasha offered a friendly smile and reached up to push fiery curls behind her ears. Art seated herself at the table and hugged the hot mug between both her hands, reveling at how its warmth could make her feel better. Under any other circumstances she would have sought out Steve, but they were on a mission… they had to be professional… and she kept trying to remind herself she was supposed to be upset with him.

"I thought I hadn't. Then he had to go and compare me to him…" Art raised the mug to her lips and muttered her next words into the swirling liquid inside, "and made some compelling arguments."

Natasha snorted and waved a hand through the air, her neatly manicured nails clicking against the tabletop once they fell to rest there again. The two hadn't spoken much what with all the chaos that was constantly in motion, but there was some unspoken connection between them. Perhaps it was because they were both women, perhaps it was their friendship with Clint; whatever it was, it had driven the Russian woman to seek Art out once she'd left Loki again. Despite the fact the conversation had seemed to have gone to hell, it gave them a look into the way that Loki thought and operated. He took pleasure in and advantage of other's weaknesses, and that could very easily allow them an opportunity to possibly sneak some information out of him.

"He was just trying to make you squirm. Like I said, don't let him get to you. He's just using whatever Asgardian jargon he can, trying to worm his way into your head."

"He's trying to do that to all of us, isn't he?" Art looked across the table at Natasha, resting her elbows against the tabletop. Natasha nodded, leaning forward so that to anyone else who came in would think they were having a private conversation. "Loki, he's… he's trying to pit us against each other. Or, something like that. Oh, hell, like I know… trying to get him to say something that isn't complete bullshit is like pulling teeth."

"We'll get something out of him. I've got a plan. From watching your conversation with him, we now know he prefers to use his adversary's weaknesses against them. Their insecurities. He kicks them when they're down. You… befriended Clint and, under Loki's influence, he told him everything that he knew about you. I've known him longer, he knows far more about me… probably told Loki more, too…" Natasha said quietly, beginning to lay out the plan. "All we have to do is pose the right situation, make him perceive me as weak…"

"And extract information from him when his own guard is down, when he thinks _he_ is in controll," Art said as she caught on. Natasha nodded and replied with 'exactly.' "At least my conversation didn't yield nothing. Though, I'm sure Fury is quite smug." Natasha laughed and shrugged, lips quirking to the side in a lopsided smile. She crossed her arms casually and leaned back in her chair, which was surprisingly comfortable for the plastic thing it was.

"He was waiting for something like that to happen; you're sort of reknowned for being opinionated. In your old files, one of your commanding officers mentioned you were never afraid to voice whether or not you thought a mission was safe or not."

Art smiled down at her hands and chuckled in the back of her throat. She could only assume that was Colonel Phillips, who, in his serious but joking tone, often said he wondered why he'd made her Sergeant. Holding her tongue had been a rule that the military had taught her to obey and break, especially when HYDRA raids were concerned. Staring into her mug of coffee, she sighed and then glanced over at the pot that held the rest of the brew she'd just made.

"I'm gonna need a lot more coffee if I'm gonna survive tonight."

After a couple more minutes of calm conversation and loose planning for Natasha's talk with Loki, the red haired woman left to have a word with Fury; only moments after she walked out, Thor walked in, eyes sweeping over all the kitchen appliances. He had become relatively familiar with such technology during his last time on earth, but most of it was still beyond his comprehension in regards of how to _actually_ use it. But he wasn't there to learn or re-familiarize himself, he had been in search of Art.

"Lady Artemesia," he said, his voice rumbling through the room. Art, who had stood to pour herself another cup of coffee, looked over her shoulder and was honestly surprised to see Thor standing there.

"Yes?"

"I have come to apologize to you for my earlier behaviour; I did not partake in the actions of a warrior and truly did behave as a child," Thor told her, bowing his head respectfully. Art shook her head and laughed, embarrassed.

"It's… fine, we were all tense and stressed––_I_ was tense and stressed. I should apologize for what I said and how I said it," Art said.

"Your sternness was welcomed, milady." She smiled at the true, sincere, gallant tone to his voice. She began to pour half-and-half into the mug, reaching up with her other hand to snag a second one. "And I have to thank you for your confidence that Loki was not beyond reason." A wince passed over Art's face and she kept her back to the tall Asgardian behind her. She couldn't face Thor as she said what she had to say; Thor had already demonstrated a deep fondness for his brother while also acknowledging how dangerous he was.

"But he is…"

Silence.

"But the sentiment was still appreciated." Turning around, Art extended a hand, intending on introducing herself properly.

"Artemesia Knoll––we were never properly introduced," she said. Thor stretched a large hand out and took hers in his grasp, shaking it firmly.

"Thor Odinson."

It was the first time Art got the chance to get a proper look at Thor. His blond hair fell to his shoulders, which were broad and muscled, much like his arms, and were covered in what remained of his armor. If she had to make a comparison, she'd say he looked like one of those Greek statues they had at museums; broad jaw-line, classically handsome, tall. With everyone she was now working with, Art was starting to feel properly short; in fact, she and Natasha _were_ actually the two shortest people there. She practically had to tilt her head back to look at almost everyone.

"Would you like some coffee? I've made far too much." Art swept a hand towards the counter she'd been working at a moment before. A large grin spread over Thor's face, and he clapped his hands together, looking thankfully relieved at the change in conversation topic. Excitement seemed to glitter in his eyes as he took the drink into consideration.

"A very kind offer! I would be very pleased to relieve you of such a delicious beverage," Thor announced. Art smiled and laughed under her breath, filling the second mug she'd snagged. She assumed he wouldn't want cream, half-and-half, or sugar, so she passed it off to him, only to discover her assumption had been correct. "So, tell me, Lady Artemesia, what battles have you fought in? I am told you have the heart of a warrior."

OOOO

Tony and Bruce looked up as the lab door hissed open and in stepped Art, carrying two porcelain mugs. Both scientists were behind their work benches, working on this or that as the night slowly crept on. As she approached them, Tony pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, rounding the lab bench so he could meet her a quarter of the way to her destination. He snagged a bag of candy off the table top and poured some into the palm of his hand. The man tossed pieces of the round candy into his mouth, chewing as he nodded to the woman in the lab.

"Anything I could assist you with, Lieutenant Liberty?" he inquired. He watched as her nickname made her lips purse and her brows briefly crease. Ah, so she didn't like her little hero name… he would file that away for later use. Art raised both mugs, which were steaming gently.

"I made a pretty big batch of coffee and thought you fellas might like some caffeine to pass the night, keep you awake as you work," she said. She set one down on Bruce's bench, to which he smiled gratefully, and Tony accepted the mug as he hopped up and sat on his own bench, staring at her for a moment longer. Art's eyes momentarily flicked to the small Arc Reactor that glowed through the front of his shirt, remembering having read about its purpose in his files. Tony gestured at her with a hand that cupped more Skittles.

"You know, my dad _loved_ to talk about you," Tony commented, sipping at the edge of his mug. Art's face screwed up into a look of both interest and disgust. Interest at the mention of Howard, and disgust with the fact he was eating a clearly fruity sort of candy paired with coffee.

"He did?"

"Oh, yeah! Loads. Endlessly. A constant string of nothing but compliments and praise. It was significantly less annoying than the way he talked about Cap, though; it was always intriguing to hear stories about you, how you pulled one over on the military, proved them wrong, helped start a movement for women. Called you… cunning, admirable, and brave among other things. You were part of my bedtime stories when I was little, thought you sounded badass. Plus, he _loved_ about talking how pretty you were; sorry, wrong word. What did he use?" Tony tapped his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "That's right, he used beautiful––he even showed me pictures of you, though, I do have to say that they didn't do you justice."

Art snorted and smiled, rolling her eyes at him when she heard a tone in his voice she'd heard from his father many times before. Playfully flirtatious, though maybe not quite as serious as Howard might have been at one time. It was flattering to hear that Howard had thought so highly of her, though also maybe a tad embarrassing.

"You are your father's son."

"So I've been told." He held out his palm full of candy. "Skittle?" Art raised a hand in refusal. She then wandered towards one of the screens that filled the lab and narrowed her eyes at the readings and charts that displayed themselves there. She regretted having kept her glasses in her room, but then again, half of this stuff probably wouldn't make sense to her anyway.

"How's tracking the cube coming along?" Art asked, stepping away from the monitor. Bruce adjusted his glasses and gestured to a screen in front of him.

"We're just finishing calibrating the systems to search for gamma rays. Once that's all powered up, we should be able to get a solid location on the Tesseract and, hopefully, the agents who are with it," Bruce explained. Art nodded slowly, narrowing her eyes at the thought of the glowing blue object that had caused––and was still causing––so much strife, anger, and war.

"The damn thing should have been left in the ocean," she muttered. Tony hummed and set his mug down, circling back around the lab bench. Bruce glanced over at Loki's scepter, which was as much a mystery to them as the Tesseract was. He wondered if it was powered by the cube, or if they simply just looked alike in color? Alien technology wasn't something they were well-versed in, and that was starting to cause a lot of frustration.

"Yeah, you and Steve had a lot of trouble with it back in the day didn't you?" Bruce asked, leaning forward against the bench. Art nodded and chuckled, scratching at the back of her neck as she recalled those times.

"We definitely did. Though this time around its more of the main focus of the mission; last time it was to take down HYDRA."

"Speaking of HYDRA… in your files, I read that you have a pretty severe case of trypanophobia," Tony said, beginning to rifle around through some of the drawers in a nearby cabinet. Bruce looked up from his work station with a crease set between his brows. What an odd turn of the conversation. "You know, fear of needles and all that jazz." Art blinked a few times, thinking the same thing, and brushed some hair behind her ear.

"Um… yeah, I suppose I do." She crossed her arms uncomfortably, the edges of her lips turning downward. "That's what happens when you're poked and prodded with them incessantly."

"By the Red Skull, right?" He took silence as confirmation. When he turned back around, Art felt her body stiffen as she saw what he held in his hands. He held a syringe in his hand with a calculating look in his eyes. The Word War Two soldier's hand twitched towards her leg, where her holster was strapped. "Doesn't seem too bad to me."

"Tony––" Bruce tried to reason, stepping forward, whipping his glasses off. Was this really a good idea? Testing her endurance to this sort of thing, this painful of a memory? He had been a victim of Tony's curiousness, what with the poking and prodding he'd been doing to see just how much it would take to get the Other Guy to come out and play… Art didn't need to be subjected to that. Tony waved him off with a hand, holding up the syringe as he took a sauntering step forward. Art looked strained with her shoulders squared, a cold look on her face, and all muscles tensed. Her heart rate had increased drastically and her body kicked into defense mode. All she could hear was her heartbeat and cognitive thought was put on stand-still. The moment Tony even began to shift his weight to move towards her, she felt herself react, completely unbidden. Lunging forward instinctively, Art knocked the syringe from his hand before she grabbed his wrist and knocked his feet from under him. He fell with a hard thud and gaped up at her in surprise. There was a slightly darker, distant look in her eyes that was very much unlike her typically calm gaze.

Art's eyelids fluttered and the look disappeared, a shaking breath inhaled through her nose. Stepping a few steps back as Tony righted himself with furrowed brows, Art held a trembling fist up to her mouth as though contemplating what to do. The room was silent, her reaction unexpected and decidedly uncharacteristic. Art hadn't meant to do that. All she might've done was tell him to put it away, be considerate. But something in her had just… clicked into place, sending her into attack mode. Looking down at the billionaire coldly, she shook her head.

"You're an ass," she spat. But despite the biting remark, Art grabbed Tony by the hand and hoisted him to his feet. Tony's free hand rubbed at his tailbone, which ached from the impact with which he'd hit the floor. Art turned tail then and made for the door, a hand pressed to her forehead, which marginally hid the troubled look on her face. Tony and Bruce watched her leave, the door hissing shut behind her. Then the mildly shocked billionaire turned to Bruce, who was giving him a look that could have been categorized as 'I told you so,' but since he hadn't been allowed to speak it was more of, 'I would have told you so.'

"You deserved that," Bruce told him, going back to his work. Tony glanced back at the door with his own troubled look on his face.

"Was it just me, or did that seem highly uncharacteristic? I mean, I might've expected that from Capsicle, but not from her. I mean, I've known her for all of a collective hour, but we've all heard stories," Tony said, joining Bruce behind the lab benches. "Didn't that seem a bit… _not_ Lieutenant Liberty?" Bruce paused in his work and took the time to tap the pen he was holding against the tabletop. He had to admit, that _had_ been a bit strange, if not also deserved on Tony's part.

"Yeah, just a bit. But, let's keep in mind that she's had a rough night. We all saw that conversation with Loki. I don't think you come out of that sorta thing unscathed," Bruce said, piecing together an excuse. He drew the coffee mug towards himself, staring down at the dark brown liquid inside of it. "It was nice of her to bring us coffee, though. Now _that_ seems like a Lieutenant Liberty move." Bruce took a tiny sip of it, wary of his caffeine intake and the speed of his heart rate. Tony picked up his mug and swirled around what was inside. Yeah, he supposed it was. But there was one thing he was now definitely sure of; Loki wasn't the _only_ one on the ship that could, as Art herself had put, pack a wallop.

_**Afterword:**_ _**The number of chapters I have written up is actually a record for me. I've… **__**never**_ _**had a story where I've had chapters just at the ready to post whenever it seemed right. I'm quite proud of myself! And I think I also owe it to you guys for being so excited to find out what's going to happen, it keeps me motivated to keep on writing.**_

_**Review replies!**_

**darck ben:** _There will be a scene, at some point, between just Art and Bruce. I've got a very specific one in mind, but that won't come for a while… but when it happens it's gonna be a great bonding moment. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _Tony's great in that scene; his sarcasm and sassiness is just the best. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _Thank you! I figured that Art wouldn't get entangled in the fight, and that she'd probably be the voice of reason. I think that she is/wants to be/feels like she is the voice of reason in a lot of situations. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I'm glad you liked the conversation that Loki and Art had on the mountain; it was fun to write. I hope you enjoyed the interaction with Loki in this chapter :) Thank you, once again! I hope you enjoyed!_

**weasleylover10:** _Art and Loki will not be a couple, I can assure you that––they shall always be enemies. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _I figured that since Art's probably had to stop a shit ton of fights in her time as a Sergeant/Lieutenant, it would make sense if she told them off and if they felt a little guilty about it. And I Had so much fun with this chapter, it sort of introduces what might become of Art's relationships with the team––though Tony royally messed up, didn't he? I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _At the moment I have four other chapter that are ready to be posted, and that's a record for me! Oh, my god, Art totally is the mother hen; which means it's gonna be real funny when she, like, proposes they all do drinking games, which will happen, I've decided. You have no idea how escalated the drama's going to get… we already see a smidgen of it between Art and Tony here. Yeah, I figured I'd probably fit Foggy in there somewhere, since Art would probably check up on Matt to make sure he's doing okay after the invasion. And I would love to read your Steve story whenever it gets posted :) And if you need help with anything/want to bounce ideas around, I'd love to be of help :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Jojo657:** _Thank you very much! I'm very flattered and happy that you've been enjoying the story thus far!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _I'm glad you enjoyed last chapter and hope that this one was just as pleasing! Thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those who added this story to their follows/favorites; it means a lot!**_

_**There you have it! Next chapter we get a bit of down time, and Steve will pop back up again. Then it dissolves into drama and all that fun stuff :) I've got the next chapter queued up and ready to go, so keep an eye out for that! Thanks again, you guys, for taking the time to read! You're all lovely!**_

_**~Mary**_


	11. R&R

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

11\. R&amp;R

The night sky was that special shade of dark blue that couldn't be eloquently described by words. Above the cloudline, what stars that could be seen were perfectly visible, and everything seemed beautifully calm. Or, at least, from one side of the glass it looked calm. Art, sat on the floor of one of the recreation rooms, was staring out a wall of windows that allowed her to peer out into the night. From her side of the glass, it looked calm, but she knew that outside, on the earth below, somewhere Loki's minions were preparing to plunge the world into chaos. There wasn't anything that they could do in that moment; they had no clue where to go and Loki wasn't been cooperative. Natasha was just about to set her plan into motion, Tony and Bruce were locating the Tesseract, and Steve was doing god knew what. But Art simply sat there with nothing better to do, wondering just how long it was going to take for war to blossom into fruition.

Not to mention, Art was still stuck on her reaction to Tony. And it was, in fact, to Tony and not the needle. She knew just how she reacted to such medical instruments, as she'd experienced it before. But her violent reaction to Tony had been because he was approaching her in what she had instinctively categorized as threateningly… which was funny because she didn't remember ever reacting to something like that so drastically before. She sighed and dropped her head onto her arms, hiding her face from the rest of the world. Everything had been going so well before that morning, and now all of it was plunged into a chaos she both loved and hated. Loved because it was familiar, hated because she currently couldn't do anything to make it better.

"Long day?" Art looked up to find Coulson standing a few feet off, hugging a clipboard to his chest. She wondered how long he must have been standing there. She was so out of it, she wouldn't have noticed it the agent had been there for the last hour. With a tired smile, Art nodded in agreement. "Would you… mind if I joined you? Or I could… come back some other time if you like."

"I don't mind, please, sit. I'm on stand-by till I'm needed again, so some company would be greatly welcomed." Looking gratefully excited, Coulson came and sat beside her, right on the floor. He set his clipboard aside, and crossed his legs under him. He looked sort of funny, a full-grown man in a suit sitting in a child-like position; but he was a very happy, excitable man, so she supposed that it suited him. His enthusiasm was undying and lovely and she couldn't help but think of him fondly. Art then noticed he was holding a small stack of small, rectangular card stock in his hands. "Are those the trading cards?" Coulson smiled sheepishly and nodded. Art extended her hand. "May I?"

Once Coulson handed the cards over, Art began to carefully go through them, remembering him mentioning that they were all practically in mint condition. The set seemed evenly divided between depicting Steve and herself; she thought she remembered Coulson saying something about there being a Lieutenant Liberty set that eventually got assimilated into the Captain America one. There was one of Steve in his original costume, with blue and red lettering that read 'Buy war bonds! Have you done enough?' Next was one of her in her Commandos uniform, though the drawing had been done to make it more apparent she was a woman––her hair was longer, her chest wasn't flat, and her hands were settled on the flare of her hips. The depiction of her was smiling broadly and brightly, with words bordering the top and the bottom. 'Support our men AND women overseas!'

Other cards were scenes from the comics, baring both herself and Steve in the images, taking swings at Nazis or Hitler himself. Steve was depicted in the various different stages of his uniforms from the very beginning to what had been the final product. She vaguely recalled seeing some of them in the shops before she went overseas. The art was dramatic and beautiful. Steve was always depicted broad-chested in heroic stances, with hard lines and angles, as heros were generally shown. But Art's cards took on a beautifully done cross between strong stanced, heroic lines and the soft femininity that was shown in her smiles, the tilt of her head, or the curve of her back. It was odd to see herself drawn so heroically, as it was a form of flattery she never could have wished for in her wildest dreams; one such card was the one of her running through the forest with her gun at the ready, mouth open in what was assumably a shout of command. In the background she could make out another figure in a blue coat––Bucky.

Her lips were drawn into a sad smile as she flipped to the next card, which she had to turn sideways as the image was drawn in landscape view. It was a sepia tone photograph of her and Bucky laughing over a map spread across the hood of a military vehicle. The final card was the one that Natasha had mentioned, the rare one. Sure enough, it was of her and Steve, a drawn rendition of a photograph that had been taken while the film crew had been present to make the movie about the Howling Commandos. She and Steve had their bodies turned square-on to the looker on, but their heads were turned profile as they beamed at each other. Steve's headgear was gone to reveal his head of perfectly styled blond hair, and Art's coat slouched open just slightly to show off the dogtags around her neck. The photographer had captured a rare moment where it wasn't Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty––or, at that time, Arthur Knoll––they had instead captured Steve Rogers and Artemesia Knoll. A moment where Steve's eyes crinkled around the edges and Art looked like she was near laughter. Art held up that card and smiled over at Coulson.

"I think this one is my favorite," she commented. Coulson grinned and watched as she fanned them out across the floor with the utmost care. "Which is your favorite of me?" He considered them all with a critical but loving eye before he tapped one near the center. It bared a simple tan background and a small bubble in the corner that bared the number of the card in the card set––it was, in fact, number four. The image in the center of the card was of her standing with her legs braced apart, a pistol grasped in one hand while the other rested against the edge of Steve's shield, which was propped up against her leg. Her hair was longer in that image, too, falling in dark brown curls that draped themselves over her shoulders; she wore her Commando uniform, which was shown to be distressed here and there with singe marks and maybe a bullet graze or two. "Do you have a pen?"

Coulson eagerly dug one out of his suit coat and handed it to her, watching as she placed the card against her leg and bent over to sign it. She paused with the tip of the pen just over the card, pondering on how she should sign it. 'Lieutenant Liberty' would barely fit… but then her lips quirked into a small smile as she got an idea. On one of the card's corners, she flicked out a beautiful cursive capital 'L' that immediately looped into another that hung just below it. There. Then, feeling as though that seemed a bit too impersonal, Art signed her full name, Artemesia Knoll, across the bottom. Finally, she handed it back, smiling at him.

"Thank you, so much," Coulson said, beaming down at the card as he put it on the top of the pile of cards. "This is… I couldn't have dreamed of having these signed! Thank you."

"Of course, it's the least I could do," Art told him, resting her cheek on the top of her knees. Coulson pushed the set of cards into his breast pocket, making sure they were fitted there securely. Art sighed quietly and looked back out the window. "Selvig and Clint… do you think we'll find them, Agent Coulson?"

"Please, call me Phil––at least in casual settings––and I think that we will. We've got the best expert in gamma radiation working on tracking the cube down and whenever the cube is, they're bound to be. And we've got you and the Captain, and you've both proven good in a fight, so I've got no doubt we'll get them back soon," Coulson told her with a comforting smile. Art smiled at him thankfully and he checked his watch, sighing as he rose to his feet. He straightened out his jacket and tie, bending down to pick up his clipboard. "I've got to go and make sure the bridge is in order. Thank you, again; maybe sometime we could sit down for coffee."

"I'd like that," Artemesia agreed, smiling again. He nodded to her and quietly said 'Lieutenant' as he left. As she turned to look back out the window, she noticed that he had left behind one card, which had been turned specifically to face her. It was the one of her and Steve, the one she had said she liked. Art wondered if he'd just forgotten it or if he'd left it for her to have. But either way, she picked it up and smiled at it, tucking it into one of the pouches on her belt to ask about later.

Steve ducked into the recreation room after a particularly disgruntling conversation with Tony. He was hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top-secret files, claiming that Fury was not telling them everything. Though Steve reprimanded him on hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database, it had stirred up a mind-gnawing suspicion that, perhaps, Fury _wasn't_ telling them everything. If he was going to go investigate, he was going to take Art along with him; but first he needed to find her. And when he did, she was sitting in silence, watching clouds drift through the night sky. Steve approached and paused before he sat down beside her and joined in on staring out the window.

"I had a plan you know," he said softly. It was probably not what she wanted to hear, and Steve knew that. But he made a point to try not to lie to her, and that was the truth. He _did_ have a plan when he jumped out of that plane, knew exactly what he was going to do. Art turned her head and stared at him for a long, quiet moment, a faint crease beginning to appear between her eyebrows. But instead of shaking her head and snorting, she just nodded and rested her cheek on top of her knees.

"I realize that now. I was just being… well… stressed," Art sighed.

"The only way I could stop anyone from getting hurt was if I left immediately. If there had been time to spare, then I would have––"

"Steve, you don't have to explain yourself." The two looked at each other and she offered an apologetic smile. "You were right to do what you did. I was wrong to presume that you were acting rashly… you never act rashly––_I'm_ the one that does that, apparently."

"You don't have to apologize. It's… been a long day. A very long day."

The conversation lapsed into silence, then, and the only sound they heard was the faint whirring and humming of the Helicarrier's engines. It must have looked funny, the two of them sitting on the floor. There they were, two heroes dressed in their spangled uniforms, sitting like young children on a play-date. Steve shifted himself closer and wound an arm around her waist, prompting her to lean into his side. Art did so easily and welcomed the comfort of his warmth and familiar smell; he was right. It _had_ been a long night. To have the words of a villain get into your head was highly unpleasant, and she would know since she now had Schmidt's _and_ Loki's words rattling around her brain. Sleep seemed far off, especially with all the coffee she'd had to drink, and she was sure it wouldn't come till all of this was over. Though she had to wonder if the serum would make not sleeping easier on her because it certainly didn't feel that way every time she woke up in the morning.

Steve's gloved hand roamed up and down her side in a slow and comforting manner, thinking something along the same lines. He had seen her face on the monitors, how distraught she'd look when Loki suggested they were alike. It was a look Steve never wanted to see on her face again, never wanted to see the way her eyes shone with tears or the severe downturn of her lips. Turning his head, he pressed his lips to the crown of her head and then buried his nose in her hair, which had been let down since last he saw her. Art shut her eyes and welcomed the calm the moment provided.

"Why didn't you come find me?" he asked softly. Art, knowing what he was referring to, sighed and traced the shape of the top point of the star on Steve's chest.

"Because we have to be professional," Art reminded. "We have to be Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty; we aren't Steve Rogers and Artemesia Knoll here…"

"That's where you're wrong." Steve lifted his head and Art looked up at him curiously. "You're Artemesia Knoll as much as you are Lieutenant Liberty and I'm Steve Rogers as much as I'm Captain America. We're always ourselves." Art felt Steve's glove clad fingers slip between hers as he spoke, fondly shaking her hand. "In short… we should be free to seek each other out when we need to, no matter the reason."

Art tilted her head back so it rested against his shoulder, staring up at him. A gentle smile appeared on her face, and she lifted a hand to place it against Steve's cheek. Their quiet moment was just what she had needed; a moment with just them two, away from everyone else and the chaos that they'd been immersed in so suddenly that morning. Steve returned the smile and turned his head in the slightest, which allowed him to kiss her palm.

"Thank you…" she murmured.

Steve's head tilted forward and their foreheads met and their noses brushed together. Art's hand drifted down to his neck, her nails lightly grazing his skin. Placing a hand on her cheek, Steve closed the short distance between them and kissed her. Art's lips quirked into a smile, tenderly returning the kiss. When the kiss broke, they didn't move away from one another; shifting the position in which she sat, Art craned her head upwards and kissed him for a second time. They both hadn't had much time to explore their relationship beyond nights in that ended with dancing to the record player. Steve had been meaning to plan a _real_ date night, one where they went out for the evening, but just when he was about to propose it, all of… _this_ came up. But, just like always, they took what they could get. That was just what they did, even from the very beginning.

Steve's hand slipped to the back of Art's neck, drawing her closer than she was before. A quiet sound resonated in the back of her throat, and one hand fell to rest over his heart. Unlike the shorter, gentler kisses they'd shared, this one was longer and edged on fervent. There was a steadily increasing intensity to it; but the intensity was still considerably gentle. Art's arm crept around Steve's neck, her fingers brushing against the skin just above his collar. His hand tentatively came to rest on her hip, gliding gently up to the dip of her waist.

"Oh! Oh, god! PDA!" Tony exclaimed as he walked in. Surprised out of their moment, Steve and Art drew out of the kiss and looked towards the door. Tony pretended to shield his eyes while making a beeline for the refrigerator in the kitchenette. Removing his hand-blinder, Tony peered at them with a smirk. "Making out like teenagers, I see; and blushing like you got caught by your parents. Don't mind me, I'm just grabbing some snacks; carry on if you like." He reached into the fridge and withdrew a silver bag that was filled with cranberries.

Art sighed and bowed her head, which brought it to rest on the middle of Steve's chest. Steve clasped a hand to the back of her head, kissing the top of it gently. Tony watched for a moment as he, quite loudly, worked on opening the aluminum packet of fruit. Clearing his throat, he popped a few of the berries into his mouth and wiped his fingers off on his pant leg. It was still quite strange to see them alive and wandering about, acting at full capacity as they once had. They'd just been his bedtime stories, the occasional bane of his existence and source of envy; they'd been figments of the imagination, ghosts of times past, but now they were full-blown people again.

"Hey, Lieu." Art slowly raised her head with a pinch formed between her brows. She could only presume 'Lieu' was short for 'Lieutenant,' which meant she was two-for-two on Tony's nickname list. "Sorry 'bout earlier. I've been told I don't play well with others." Art nodded her response, a brief, flickering upturn of her lips appearing. With that, Tony fixed Steve with a look and left, tossing cranberries into the air so he could catch them in his mouth.

"What happened earlier?" Steve asked.

"He… tried to test the severity of my trypanophobia; and he got what was coming to him," Art replied flatly. Steve felt a rumble of displeasure in his stomach. Stark was just digging himself into a bigger, deeper hole…

"Speaking of Stark… he seems to think that Fury is hiding vital information from us."

"Really?"

"So convinced, in fact, that he's hacked into their… internal database or whatever he said it was. He's trying to dig up their confidential files, see what they're hiding…" Steve trailed off, gaze becoming distant. His lips became pursed and his forehead creased in concentration; it was the look he wore when he was forming strategies, making plans. Playing the role of second-in-command again, Art looked over at him and knocked her elbow into his.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I think that it wouldn't be the first time an organization hid something from its employees," Steve replied, voice quiet. Art rose to her feet, slipping her arms back into her suit's sleeves. As she began to redo the buttons, she looked down at him with both eyebrows raised.

"Reasonable doubt is a good thing, Steve."

"And that's why I was about to ask if you'd accompany me to see what's in storage. Computers may be the thing to use nowadays, but we're probably quicker."

Steve watched as a smile appeared on Art's face, her fingers slipping the last button through its hole; next, she pulled her gloves back on and secured them around her wrists tightly. She didn't bother to retie her hair and instead nodded towards the door.

"What are we waiting for, then?" she asked, sounding in a much better mood than she'd been in. Steve returned the smile brightly, which gave her pause. Reaching up, she pushed a stray strand of hair off his forehead and then stretched up onto her toes and kissed him. "You should really smile more… I miss your smile… you've become more somber, you know. Not saying it doesn't suit you, but, it's just not… _you_. Now, c'mon, we've got a computer to beat."

_**Afterword:**_ _**So we've got some nice down time before shit hits the fan next chapter. Like… it REALLY starts to spiral out of control next chapter, but that's all good fun! There's an upcoming chapter I'm very much looking forward to posting, and now we're just one step closer…**_

_**Review replies!**_

**PorcelineLady:** _Your review from a couple chapters ago got, like, eaten up and I couldn't find it to reply to last time, so, I found it again, and am now replying––I love that you enjoyed the Wizard of Oz reference! I had a blast thinking of what Art would say and thought that would work well! Also––fan art? Oh, that's so sweet, and absolutely amazing! If you do make some, definitely let me know/send the link/tell me where to find it, and I'll take a good, long, appreciative look! Thank you, once again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _I hope you enjoyed Steve and Art's time together in this chapter. I rewrote it round about two or three times because I couldn't settle on a definitive tone for their moment. But I think it turned out pretty alright. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _Yeah, Loki and Art as a couple would just be… unnatural. Really unnatural. And the whole Kriegerin thing is something that shall remain in play for a while… a good while. I've had fun vamping off that idea. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _Art and Thor was a fun scene to write, since I feel like she just doesn't know how to interact with him. And Loki's got plans, which may or may not be revealed in a chapter or two. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Jojo657:** _Hmmm… perhaps they did… ;) I hope you enjoyed the chapter––thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _I had initially intended Steve to appear last chapter, but it would have been a bit lengthy. He was probably searching the Helicarrier for Art to see how she was doing, but kept getting held up or lost––he also totally wandered into the lab after Art wandered out. Missed each other by an inch. Tony is the main point of tension for her right now, as it rightfully should be. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _Yeah, Tony overstepped his boundaries just a smidgen. A big smidgen; and Art's reaction is something to be kept in note. I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _I'm glad you enjoyed last chapter––she and Thor will have a good, fun relationship as time progresses. And she will face the music at some point in the nearing future, just maybe not the way you think. Maybe in a bit more feelsy way. But we shall have to wait and see. Thanks again! Hope you enjoyed!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _Aw, thank you, so much! I'm beyond flattered that you think that the Art-Loki scene could have been in the movie. I tried really hard to keep them in character and make it as intense at it needed be to fit the atmosphere of the movie at that point; I'm glad that I succeeded :) Tony needs to get taken down a notch or two sometimes, and Art was happy to oblige. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**oXxgeorgiaxXo:** _I figured we had to get the first ass-ery interaction with Tony out of the way, and it seemed to fit as a closer for last chapter; I'm glad you picked up that Art wasn't quite herself there at the end of last chapter. Keep that in mind… it's gonna be important. I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**darck ben:** _I thought last chapter was a good character interaction chapter for Art, since she didn't get to interact with the whole of the team one-on-one at the beginning. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _It's totally fine! :) Commander!Artie is fun to write, especially when she gets to scold people. And we did get to see a different side of Artie last chapter what with taking Tony down. Some of it was definitely the trypanophobia, the PTSD, and herself, but there was also an element of something that wasn't quite right, like Tony picked up on. Also, I felt like it was important to mention she still uses her glasses––there were a lot of things that the serum enhanced/fixed, but her eyesight was not one of them, ahaha! Neither were her scars, which I think are an important part of her character. Also, super happy you like the suit! She's definitely going to get set aside from the Dynamic Duo after the events of the Avengers, 'cause it's sort of her first real appearance AS Lieutenant Liberty. And I'm trying to figure out a symbol or signature THING for her to have… it's wicked difficult, though. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**isanna:** _I'm glad you've been enjoying the story thus far! I've had a lot of fun with coming up with this storyline/plot and I'm enthralled that you're enjoying it as well. Later on we'll get to see how the whole Captain America/Steve Rogers shift affects their relationship. I haven't addressed it yet 'cause they hadn't been thrown into a situation like this one since waking up. But I have a couple scenes planned :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _I figured that since she's already faced off against Schmidt, who was so far off track she knew there was no reasoning with him, she wanted to believe that there wasn't a force as evil as him in the world again. Alas, she was wrong. And Loki's words were meant to hurt, and they're gonna keep on stinging; but you're right––they each took a different path from vaguely similar roads. We'll get to see Steve's thoughts about watching the whole thing from surveillance in… two or so chapters, if I'm adding it up right in my head. Artie suggesting drinking games is gonna be hilarious, 'cause some of them are gonna be surprised she'd suggest it. It'll also be funny because she can't get drunk, but she'd still participate. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**tkczombie:** _Tony saw her actions as uncharacteristic because he, like many other people, only know her through the stories that they heard as children/growing up/her legacy as being calm, collected, and in control. Also, just through how he's interacted with her thus far, she's been fairly gentle/reserved/'Lieutenant Liberty'-esque. So, when she takes him down and he notices there's something in her eyes that isn't very her, that's why he thinks it' uncharacteristic. But she has been very emotional thus far, and they don't really know each other that well, so judgements probably are coming a bit too quick and fast amongst them. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again! :)_

**Jo:** _I'm glad you enjoyed last chapter and the direction I took it to; I figured it would probably be best for Art to interact with Tony and Bruce w/out Steve there. It helps their relationships w/the others develop separately and in their own way. It was also a fun way to introduce some plot points ;) Thank you, once again, and you are awesome, too, my friend! _

_**Thank you to all of those who added this to their favorites/follows, it means a lot to me, and makes me smile!**_

_**So next chapter we start getting into the meat of the story. Shit goes down––downhill, that is. I'm getting SO close to posting the stuff that I've been looking forward to posting since I was halfway done writing In the Dawn of Change. Like… I've had this story planned for FOREVER. And we're getting to the bits I'm so excited about! Ahhh! Anyway, I should get the next chapter up soon, since it's written and all ready to go (I've actually got up to chapter 15 written––I'm so impressed with myself for writing that far ahead!) Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, the calm before the storm. Thanks again, all! You all rock!  
~Mary**_


	12. Threatened

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

12\. Threatened

SECURE STORAGE 10-C

Those were the words painted on the heavy metal door that Steve and Art had decided to wrench open. It was, in all likelihood, locked, but that wasn't going to stop them. Their fingers had found purchase in the tiny crack between the door and the wall, and they pulled with all their might. Facial muscles crinkled and arms shook, but they stood fast and continued to lay all of their strength into prying the door open. Secure storage was located in the hull of the ship, and since it was nearing dawn, most of the workers were asleep, and the ones still on duty didn't question the presence of Lieutenant Liberty and Captain America.

"Whoever said the serum… makes me stronger… is a bastard…" Art grunted, feeling her fingers beginning to slip. Her gloves didn't cover her fingers like Steve's did, and it was rather painful. Steve grit his teeth as they leaned a bit farther back, pulling against the door from a different angle. With a loud clanking sound, it gave a little––the lock had broken. With one last heave, they slid the door open and dropped their arms.

"They may be a bastard, but they were right. You'd never have been able to help me do that before," Steve replied quietly. They were trying to keep quiet as possible, because now, after prying the door open, all the workers had _every_ right to question why Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty were breaking into storage.

The two slipped inside with silent footsteps, taking in their new surroundings. Metal crates were lined up on either side of the small warehouse like room. There was a second level that was upheld by catwalks and was lit dimly by lights set into the walls. Taking precautions in case anyone _was_ inside, Art nodded up to the catwalks and gave Steve a pointed look. Steve nodded his acknowledgement and then gestured down the center of the room with two fingers. Once she nodded, they were off. Steve bounded forward and jumped, easily grabbing onto the catwalk railing; hoisting himself over, his feet touched down on the grating and made a slight rattling sound, the only noise that disturbed the silence. Art quietly crept forward, hand poised over her holster just in case. Once she was sure the bottom floor was cleared, Art made the executive decision to start checking crates.

After she took her pick, placed her thumbs on the latches and flicked them upward. Art had never had a heart attack before in her life, but, in that moment, she was sure she knew how it felt. For upon lifting the lid, her sight was assaulted with the appearance of weapons she thought long since destroyed. Weapons that bared the symbol of HYDRA on the side, the ones that she'd stared down the barrel of and thought she'd seen death in. Slamming the lid shut with a resounding _clang_, Art tried to breath deep and calm her pounding heart. Feeling every inch of her body plunged into denial, she moved to the next stack of crates and opened it. The same weapons. Guns powered by the Tesseract. Assault weapons that could kill three men at once. Masks that hid the face and made one appear expressionless and cold. Once she shut the crate, Art took a step back and threaded shaking fingers through her hair. It felt as though her world were confined to that room and that it was suddenly collapsing in on itself.

From the distance she'd backed up, Art had a straight shot to jump up to the catwalks where Steve had been searching around. Running three steps forward, Art leapt forward, used a pile of crates as extra leverage, and swung herself up onto the catwalks. She followed the path she'd seen Steve take, hand once again poised over her gun holster. After a few moments of silent wandering, she found him kneeling before two open crates, both of which bared HYDRA equipment.

"You found it too, then," Art said in a stiff, quivering voice. Steve rose to his feet and turned to face Art with a stern expression. He nodded. "Why can't the past just… _stay_ in the past?"

"I don't know… But these aren't from back in our day. They're brand new, look at them." Steve removed a HYDRA assault rifle out of the box and regarded it with disgust.

Art stepped up to the second crate and removed one of the masks, holding it up to face level. The eyes were blacked out with tinted glass, creating dark, lifeless pits that she'd stared into one too many times. There were two or three different masks that HYDRA soldiers wore, from her experience. The mask she held prevented the inhalation of gas, protected the eyes, and made killing deeply impersonal. It covered the whole of the face, not giving the victims of whoever wore it a chance to even catch a glimpse of their attacker, their killer.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is making HYDRA assault weapons… Goddamn, Stark was right." Art's arm dropped, but her fingers remained curled around the mask. She laughed humorlessly, coldly. "And of all the things to hide, Fury knew _exactly_ what to lock away." Meeting Steve's equally infuriated gaze, she held up the mask again. "What do you say we go put an end to this?"

OOOO

Dawn had broken across the sky, and the Helicarrier was about to be plunged into utter chaos; they just didn't know it yet. Natasha had pinpointed that Loki's play was Banner and the Hulk. Fury had discovered that Tony had hacked into his files, and he was about to find out just what the hell he thought he was doing.

"What are you doing, Mr. Stark?" Fury demanded as he marched into the lab. Loki's scepter was carefully displayed on a lab bench, and it was quite clear that they were doing work on anything _but_ the Tesseract. Tony's brows furrowed and he gestured to the director.

"Uh, kinda been wondering the same thing about _you_," he shot back easily. Fury's eyes narrowed.

"You're supposed to be locating the Tesseract."

"We are. The model's been locked and we're sweeping for the signature now. When we get a hit, we'll have the location within half a mile," Bruce explained, gesturing to a monitor that displayed an image of the globe that was being scanned over and over and over again. Tony nodded and leaned back against one of the benches, flipping a pen around in his hand.

"And you'll get your cube back, no muss, no fuss…" A screen in front of him bleeped a few times and displayed the phrase 'PHASE 2.' Tony's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What is Phase Two?"

Steve and Art marched into the room and dropped their findings onto a table with a heavy clang. The assault rifle and the mask lay side by side as two _very_ unhappy soldiers strode forward straight backed and stern faced. Fury's eyes fell shut and a barely perceivable sigh escaped his lips. Art narrowed her eyes at the director, gritting her teeth as he slowly turned towards them.

"Phase Two is S.H.I.E.L.D. uses the cube to make weapons," Steve spat, looking at Fury, who stood in the center of the room looking highly unamused. Steve's gaze turned on Tony and softened somewhat… but only somewhat. "Sorry. The computer was moving a little slow for me." Fury held out what was hopefully a placating hand, turning to the World War Two soldiers in order to give them his full attention.

"Rogers, Knoll, we gathered _everything_ related to the Tesseract. This does not _mean_ that––"

"I'm sorry, Nick." Tony opened a file on his monitor and turned it so they could all see what was on it. Weapon plans. "What were you lying?"

"I was wrong, director," Steve deadpanned, fixing Fury with a cold look. "The world hasn't changed a _bit_."

"Do you _know_ what these things even do?" Art demanded, pointing to the evidence they'd carried in. She threw up her right hand and yanked the glove off, baring her scars to daylight. "_That_ is the _least_ it can do. I have seen dozens of good men killed by these things; I've nearly _been_ killed by them. This isn't a gun that shoots off one round at a time, that takes a couple minutes to reload. _This_ gun can kill upwards of ten men at one time, depending on where it hits, 'cause the projectiles explode the minute they hit the ground."

Natasha and Thor, who had walked in mid-rant, froze just inside the threshold of the lab. Thor was watching with curiosity and Natasha remained stoic, even when Bruce turned a displeased look on her.

"Did you know about this?" he demanded to know.

"You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, doctor?" she inquired calmly. Bruce scoffed and removed his glasses, his eyes narrowing a fraction more. He had been _placed_ in this environment, like an animal placed in a cage. A very dangerous cage.

"I was in Calcutta, I was pretty well removed." Bruce's lips held the hint of a smile, a smile that distinctly sarcastic. Natasha slowly approached him, a cautiousness in each of her steps. Always so cautious around him…

"Loki's manipulating you…"

"And you've been doing, what, exactly?"

"You didn't come here because I bat my eyelashes at you."

"Yes, and I'm not leaving because you suddenly feel a little twitchy." Bruce turned to the monitor and pointed to it with his glasses, getting back to the real topic of discussion, the important one. "I would like to know why S.H.I.E.L.D. is using the Tesseract to make weapons of mass destruction."

There was a pause as Fury considered his options. His bluff had been called and there was no way to backtrack from that. So he raised his left arm and pointed to one person. "Because of _him_," he informed. Everyone's gaze followed the direction Fury was pointing in, only to discover that he was referencing Thor. The Asgardian's face flickered through confusion, shock, and then settled on stunned as he placed his pointer finger on his own chest.

"_Me?_" he questioned dubiously.

"Last year, earth had a visitor from another planet who had a grudge match that leveled a small town. We learned that not only are we not alone, but we are hopelessly, _hilariously_, outgunned," Fury explained in reference to Thor's first arrival on earth. Thor spread his arms slightly and scoffed with a shake of his head.

"My people want nothing but peace with your planet," Thor protested. The only person who had presented a true, viable threat to earth was Loki, and they had him in captivity. Grouping the whole of Asgard into the same category as Loki was quite a leap to make.

"But you're not the only people out there, are you? _And_ you're not the only threat. The world's filling up with people who can't be matched, they can't be controlled."

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room switched dramatically. Everyone's words were accusatory no matter what they were, everything was agitating, and no one could put their finger on just why that was. Fury's last statement made most of them wonder if _they_ were some of those 'people who can't be matched and can't be controlled.' Made them wonder if they _were_ being controlled.

"Like you controll the cube?" Steve tossed in flatly.

"Your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it," informed Thor in a low, rumbling tone. "_And_ his allies. It is a signal to _all_ the realms that earth is ready for a higher form of war."

"A higher form?" Steve inquired with worry in his voice.

"As in 'army from outer space as our assailants' higher form?" Art added on, referencing their earlier talk about the Chitauri. Thor gave a singular nod, confirming her fears. "Great…"

"You forced our hand. We had to come up with something," Fury contested.

"A nuclear deterrent," Tony hashed out. "'Cause that _always_ calms everything right down."

"Remind me again how you made your fortune, Stark?"

"I'm sure that if Stark still made weapons he'd be neck deep in––" Steve began to say, stepping forward. Tony, with a wave of his hand stepped up to contest whatever it was Steve was about to say.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on, how is this now about me?" Tony demanded, eyes fixed in a glare. Steve's brows crunched together in mock apology, voice sounding more than mildly accusatory when he spoke.

"Oh, I'm sorry, isn't everything?"

"I thought humans were more evolved than this," grumbled Thor in displeasure. Fury rounded on him next.

"Excuse me, did _we_ come to _your_ planet and blow stuff up?"

"Did you always give your champions such mistrust?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. always monitors potential threats," Natasha informed calmly, to which Bruce scoffed and gestured to the man and woman who'd fought in the second World War.

"And Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty are on threat watch?" he asked dubiously. Natasha, finally looking exasperated, replied with,

"You _all_ are."

"I mean, I could see why Artie-Tartie could be on that threat list. I mean, our resident bad guy said he relates to her," Tony pointed out, propping his arm up on Art's shoulder like an arm-rest. "If that's not a warning sign, I don't know what is." She gave a pitchy laugh and pushed his arm away, fixing him with a look.

"He probably has more in common with _you_ than he does with _me_. 'Cause torturing people with traumatic memories of their past seems like a pretty villainous thing to do," Art spat back, facing Tony square on. A twinge of annoyance had sparked in the back of her head, which effectively dragged her into the verbal fray. No one seemed to notice the low ringing that filled the room, a sound which had become background noise. No one seemed to notice that the stone in Loki's staff was glowing, either.

Tony took a step forward and narrowed his eyes at her, the two locked in a glaring match as the others around them continued to fight. "You aren't the only one with trauma, Lieutenant. Not all of us have fought in wars, but some of us have come pretty damn close." Art clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes, which flickered down to the glow of the Arc Reactor. She knew why he had it, what events had lead up to him needing it to live. That was why she made no response to his remark. Instead she turned away and took a couple steps back. Steve stepped towards him and leveled a finger at him, leaning forward in the slightest. Before he could even say a word, Tony flung his hands into the air. "Threatened! I feel threatened!"

"Oh, for god's sake!" Art exclaimed. Tony looked at her with a 'what now' look on his face. "You must always feel threatened, 'cause you keep on cutting _everyone_ off to defend yourself."

"How about you? You must have a very strong reaction to feeling threatened," Tony snorted, crossing his arms. Art's face twisted into a look of confusion, brows furrowing.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, just something I thought I observed earlier."

With a frustrated sigh, Art turned away and shut her eyes tightly. She threaded her fingers into her hair and listened to the chaos around them. Everyone was carrying on an argument with someone else and their words were buzzing around in an angry, indiscernible mush. In a flash, everyone had become agitated, ready to bite the head off whoever stood too close. There was _no way_ that they were going to get anything solved if they kept on like this. Not to mention, all the noise was headache inducing. Art took a strong legged stance at the side of the room, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and sucked in a deep breath.

"_Shut up!_" Art shouted over all of the other arguments. They all quieted down mid-sentence, attention drawn to her. "Are we going to carry on acting like five year-olds or are we going to get this all under control?" Thor chuckled and shook his head at her phrasing. She arched an eyebrow at him dangerously. They'd gotten along before, but this wasn't a moment to be friendly, apparently.

"You speak of control yet you court chaos!" he exclaimed.

"That's his M.O., isn't it?" Bruce asked, all attention drawn to him. He was leaning up against one of the lab benches and his voice was strangely calm for the situation he found himself in, which concerned Fury greatly. "I mean, what are we, a team? No, no, no, we're a chemical mixture that _makes _chaos. We're… we're a time bomb."

Fury held out a hand, wide-eyed and cautious. They _might_ be a time bomb… but Banner _definitely_ was. "You need to step away." The tension in the room rose ten notches.

"Why shouldn't the guy let off a little steam?" Tony asked, placing his hand on Steve's shoulder in a mock-friendly gesture. Steve, looking caught somewhere between infuriated and disgusted that Stark was touching him, knocked the hand off his shoulder with a grimace.

"You know damn well why, back off!"

Tony made a face and then snapped as though he had an idea.

"Or maybe our resident peacekeeper Artie-Tartie should let off some steam," he suggested, turning to face her. She laughed and smiled as her brows crinkled. The hell was _he _on about? She was perfectly fine.

"Excuse me?" she asked, confused laughter lacing her voice. Tony slowly began to stride towards her like he had earlier, watching as her smile fell and her body began to tense. Just like last time. But she didn't back away; she stood her ground as the smile finally disappeared.

"Well, I mean, you took me down real hard earlier; I think I may have been bruised, in fact. But, you see, you don't like mindless violence, that's not _you_. So why'd you do it, huh? You did it on instinct because you felt threatened. Do you feel threatened right now, Lieu?" Art's face had gone completely blank and her jaw was tense. He continued to advance on her with slow, prowling steps. Tony's eyes flickered down to her right hand, where her fingers were curling and twitching towards her holster. "You _really_ want to pull that gun on me right now, don't you? Why's that, I wonder?" Art clenched her right fist, face slowly morphing into one of discomfort that showed twinges of what could be discerned as pain. Her body trembled with the effort it took to repress the urge to lash out at him like she'd done earlier. Everyone watched on in enraptured confusion, noticing the strange shift in Art's attitude.

Tony felt a hand grab his bicep in a vice-like grip, halting him in his tracks. Looking over his shoulder, he discovered that Steve had grabbed hold of him, a near snarl replacing the near-stoic look his face had held moments before.

"I said, _back off_," Steve growled. Tony narrowed his eyes and took a couple steps away from Art, who relaxed with each step he took away. Once Steve's hand dropped away from his arm, Tony spoke again.

"Oh, I'm starting to want you to make me," he hummed. Steve smirked and began to circle the other man, deeply pissed off at everything he'd been doing and saying. Insulting him, sure, he could take it. Advancing on Art in a threatening manner… now that simply wouldn't do.

"Yeah… big man in a suit of armor…" Steve stopped moving once he'd done half a circle around him. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes challengingly. "Take that off and what are you?" Tony turned to face him straight on.

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist," came the response. Steve shook his head, upper lip twitching into a grimace for a moment.

"I know guys with none of that worth _ten_ of you," Steve shot back. "I've seen the footage. The only thing you _really_ fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on the wire and let the other guy crawl over you."

"I think I would just… cut the wire."

Steve smirked smugly yet angrily and looked around the room for a moment. "Always a way out. You know, you may not be a threat but you better stop pretending to be a hero."

"Oh, a hero like _you?_ Like _her?_" Tony pointed at Art. "You're both laboratory experiments, Rogers, everything special about either of you came out of a _bottle._"

The two men came nose-to-nose, the tension ramping up even more each second. Art, who'd come out of the stupor she'd dropped into, had half the mind to step between them, to intervene, but had a feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that would only make things worse. That, and she was beginning to feel a pounding in her skull, just behind her eye. She placed the heel of her palm against her temple, fighting off a wince. Steve quirked his head to the side and arched an eyebrow.

"Put on the suit, let's go a few rounds," he prompted. Thor chuckled heartily at the display of aggression he'd been watching unfold, drawing everyone's attention to him. Tony, with his brows drawing together, pressed the back of his own hand against his forehead, feeling a rather annoying headache start up. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Art doing the same; when their eyes met, Art slowly lowered her hand with an inquiring look in her eyes. The next look they shared was that of combined interest and confusion. What were the odds of them both getting a headache in the exact same spot at nearly the exact same time? Why did it feel like someone was poking around inside their head?

"You people are so petty!" he laughed, face slowly melting into one of consideration. "And _tiny_."

"Yeah, this is a tee…" Bruce chuckled.

"Agent Romanoff," Fury began to instruct, "would you please escort Dr. Banner back to his––"

"Where?" He raised his eyebrows in a prompting manner. "You rented my room."

"The cell was just in case––"

"You needed to kill me, but you can't! I know––I've _tried!_" With that statement said, everyone in the room went quiet again. The atmosphere shifted and they stared at the normally temperate scientist. His face was composed in a look of dark remembrance. "I got low. I didn't see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth; and the Other Guy _spit it out._ So I moved on. I focused on helping other people. I was good until you dragged me _back_ into this freak show and put everyone here at risk." His voice was become less pleasant. Darker… angrier. "You wanna know my secret, Agent Romanoff? You wanna know how I stay calm?"

Art, Fury, and Natasha all reached for their holsters, hands poised to draw their weapons if necessary. Everyone in the room was on alert, eyes fixated on Bruce intently.

"Dr. Banner…" Steve said in a calm voice. The doctor's attention was drawn to him, his eyes looking wilder than they'd once been. "Put down the scepter."

Bruce looked to his left hand and discovered why it was everyone was suddenly so tense. He––unknowingly––had taken hold of Loki's scepter and was brandishing it low, by his hip. He stared at it in concern and confusion, wondering just when he'd grabbed it. A computer across the lab started to beep. Setting the scepter down gingerly, Bruce made to cross the room.

"Got it," Tony announced.

"Sorry, kids, you don't get to see my party trick after all…" Bruce murmured as he stopped in front of the monitor.

"Have you located the Tesseract?" Thor inquired urgently as Natasha approached Bruce.

"I can get there faster," Tony said, gesturing to the door.

"Look, all of us––" Steve began.

"The Tesseract belongs on Asgard, no _human_ is a match for it," Thor stressed the word 'human' meaningfully. As Tony began to walk towards the door, Steve grabbed hold of his arm again.

"You can't go alone," Steve reprimanded. The billionaire angrily batted the hand away and took a few challenging steps forward.

"Are you gonna stop me?" Tony asked.

"Put on the suit, let's find out."

"I'm not afraid to hit an old man."

"_Put on the suit._"

Art opened her mouth and was about to say something to break up the fight, but halted herself when she took notice of Bruce's expression. It was one of shock, one that made him take off his glasses to see if he was reading the readings on the screen right; and he _was_.

"Oh my god…" he murmured. Art began to make for the work station, pushing between Tony and Steve as she went. Her interruption of their glare-off was just enough to draw their attention to the doctor in purple.

"Dr. Banner, what is it?" she asked.

Just as Bruce opened his mouth to reply, the Helicarrier shook something awful and flames came out of the grating that occupied the center of the lab's floor. Everyone was thrown in different directions––Fury and Thor to the right, Steve, Tony, and Art to the left, and Bruce and Natasha were plunged into the lower decks. Art was thrown onto a counter installed in the wall, smashing through a couple glass bottles and flasks and beakers upon impact. Steve and Tony had been thrown towards the door, and as the two recovered, they made eye contact through the haze of smoke.

"Put on the suit," Steve said, the tone of his voice more of a strong urging than a threat. Tony nodded, wide-eyed, and pulled himself up to his feet using the doorframe for support.

"Yup!" he agreed.

"Art, are you––"

"Just go!" Art said, rolling off the counter. Glass tumbled off her body and tinkled against the floor as she waved them off. "I'll help out with the situation around here––_Go!_" She pulled Steve to his feet and pushed him into Tony; in turn, Steve grabbed Tony by the waist and swung him in the direction they needed to go. Art reached down for her holster and pulled her gun, dashing through the door and through the smoke. If there was one thing that was perfectly clear in that moment, it was the fact that Loki was making his play––and it was a damn good first move.

_**Afterword:**_ _**So, after spending an entire exhausting day at my city's Comic Con and getting my picture taken with a squad of Captain Americas and a Winter Soldier, I felt compelled to update. Also, was totally within 100 or so feet of Robin Lord Taylor and a floor away from the one, the only, Stan Lee. It was an amazing day, and thought I'd rap it up by posting this :)**_

_**Review Replies!**_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I thought that Coulson deserved to have his cards signed before… what happens. I'm really looking forward to next chapter… things get REAL busy next time around! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _Writing Steve and Art chapter was a lot of fun, especially since they haven't got many moments like that; but they will in the near future! So many fluffy moments. I'm glad you're excited to see where the Kriegeren stroy-line goes! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**darck ben:** _I like having quiet moments here and there… and that was one of my favorites to write. Next chapter the shit just keeps hitting the fan, over and over again. But it's so much fun to write. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _Coulson being a dork is the best thing ever. I just want to hug him and make sure everything goes well for him. I want to shelter him from the world. I think that Art's just come to the realization that there's always going to be evil in the world, even in places she doesn't expect it to be––like SHIELD. And Art and Steve are gonna have loads of fun watching everyone else get drunk––except for Nat, who seems like she'd be fairly composed through it all. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again! And you are very welcome for the review––I plan on reading the next chapter some time tonight._

**grapejuice101:** _I've got these chapters prewritten, so it's amazing they're getting up so quickly. It's also a pushing point for me to try and get through the constant wall of DW writer's block. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _Thank you! And in this chapter, we get more of Art's frustration/confusion towards Tony, and Tony just being… Tony. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _I wrote the kiss and just KNEW Tony had to interrupt it. It just made sense in that moment, ahaha! But we'll get more kissing ;) And I plan to write Art into Winter Soldier and Age of Ultron––been toying with maybe throwing her into another one of the movies, but I'm not sure. Also might toss her into an episode or two of Daredevil. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _I thought it was a nice mellow chapter to lead into this shit-show that happens in the lab. I loved writing Tony interrupting the kiss, which I thought just seemed very __**him**__. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**isanna:** _The progression of their relationship is gonna start to… well, __**progress**_ _more now that they're more acclimated to the modern world. And I'm gonna have so much fun writing it! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _I'm glad you enjoyed the StArt moment last chapter––that's just a taste of what they're relationship is gonna be like once they have the time to actually persue it post-Avengers. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**TheGizzYall:** _The Coulson moment was something I really wanted to get in; 'cause even though Art doesn't know him long, I feel like they made fast friends. He also––probably––kinda reminds her of Kenny. And I'm so glad Art's dialogue doesn't seemed forced. I strive to not steal other characters lines and try to find an organic speaking point for Art. It's hard, at times, like in this chapter with all the fighting going on. But, I decided she'd get her own argument to have, and I think it turned out pretty okay. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**oXxgeorgiaxXo:** _More StArt scenes are to come! I'm so excited to write them, and so excited for you all to read them. Like… it's gonna be direly cute. I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _I strive to write good fluff. I think I do pretty okay with it, ahaaha! I figured Coulson deserved at least ONE signature, one thing that made him happiest beyond his wildest dreams. Tony's arrogance definitely will and has caught up with him, and it's only gonna hit harder in the next chapter or two. I figured that the Avengers movie would draw out Art's more somber side, because everything is so tense and serious that there's not really a chance for her Bucky-like/Bucky-induced sarcasm or her humor to really sneak through. I've definitely got plans for the impending battle. Steve and Art aren't gonna be attached at the hip, but they will, at times, fight together because they're a team, and they're used to each other's fighting styles. But, Art will get some of her own badass moments, and it's gonna be awesome. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Alice Gone Madd:** _I've decided that Tony probably had a crush on Art when he was fairly young. But he grew out of it, though it left behind a soft spot, even if he's not willing to show or admit it. And we'll hear more from Loki next chapter… so excited for that! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _Thank you! I like getting their different sides tossed in in good doses––it's fun to write. And you, my friend, continue to be completely awesome! You've stuck with this story series since chapter seven of Dawn of Change, and I cannot thank you enough for that; your support literally means so much to me! Thank you again, so, so much!_

_**And thank you to those who added this story to their favorites/follows; it means a lot!**_

_**Next chapter is the chapter that I've been absolutely DYING to post for ages. I've had it planned out for so long, and I'm actually quite proud of how it turned out; I've just got some more moments to add, some editing to do, and some fine tuning to perform. Then, it should be up pretty quickly! So excited to see what you guys think of next chapter… Anyway, till then, I hope that you all enjoyed the chapter! Thank you for taking the time to read!**_

_**~Mary**_


	13. Foot Soldier

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

13\. Foot Soldier

Everything was going according to plan. Clint and his men had infiltrated the Helicarrier, taken out one of its engines, and were making their way to the bridge. They'd met little to no resistance so far, and those agents did run into were taken down with ease. The group had split to cover all the necessary areas. A team to the detention center, a team to make sure the engine wasn't put back online, and a team that would infiltrate the bridge. Cint was part of the bridge team seeing as he was the leader and the only one who could extract the necessary files. His bow was at the ready, and his mind was on a singular path. Finish the mission. Free Loki. Let no one stop them.

The plan started to veer off path once they reached Deck Three. The minute Clint rounded a corner that opened into a junction between four corridors, he came face-to-face with none other than Artemesia Knoll. She stared at him wide-eyed with his name on her lips and her hands wrapped around her pistol. Clint drew an arrow from his quiver and, in the blink of an eye, nocked it and drew the string back. His sights remained on Art and his stance remained strong as they faced off across the hall. There was an unsurety in her eyes, a hesitance in her movements. Her fingers shifted nervously around her gun, which might've looked like a refit of her grasp, but it was quite clear it was anything but. She didn't want to aim her gun at him. Clint's eyes narrowed at her; it would probably just do him good to kill her right then and there––it would be easy, too, they outnumbered her. But something told him it would be best to do this one-on-one. He knew how she fought, he trained with her… he knew she would be hesitant to injure him.

"Keep moving," he ordered the men who flanked him. "I'll deal with her and join you shortly."

"Yes, sir." The two men, dressed in S.H.I.E.L.D. combat gear hung a right and made for the bridge.

If Art had been less conflicted, she would have shot them in a heartbeat. But she was so caught up in figuring out how to deal with Clint, she couldn't find the willpower to multi-task. Clint was staring at her down the length of the arrow he was brandishing and threatening to loose. His hands were as steady as ever, his stance just as strong, but it just wasn't _him_. What disturbed Art the most was his eyes. His irises were a shade of blue that matched both the stone in Loki's scepter and the Tesseract; an unearthly, pale blue that nearly seemed to glow. The skin around them was red and inflamed, which spoke of sleepless nights and painful affects of whatever mind-control he was under. There was no emotion on his face. It was the epitome of stoic… it was everything that Clint Barton _wasn't_. Art saw him draw his fingers back a fraction more, tensing the bowstring just a tad more. Instinctually she raised her gun, but kept it pointed at his knees, not able to bring herself to put him in her direct line of sight.

"Clint… don't make me…" she pleaded quietly. His eyes narrowed as he made sure his aim was right where it needed to be––her chest. Her heart. Art raised her gun on an impulse and aimed just to the side of his head, hands beginning to tremble in the slightest. She shook her head slowly and lowered her sights again, back at his knees. If she had to hit him somewhere… _No_, Art told herself. _I can't shoot. _She broke her grip on the pistol and held up both hands in a non-threatening manner, the muzzle of the gun pointing at the ceiling. "Clint, I'm not gonna shoot you, okay?"

"I know you won't. You never would," Clint told her, making no inclination of lowering the bow. "And that's gonna make this a whole lot easier."

The second she heard the twang of the bowstring being released, Art ducked and dove into a roll. The world spun around her as she rose to her feet again, eyes flying back to Clint, who already had another arrow nocked and aimed. Just as Clint loosed the arrow, Art jumped up and grabbed onto an exposed support beam, swinging her legs up to pull herself out of the way. Art let her legs drop and swung them forward, making to knock the sharpshooter off his feet; unfortunately, he was just as good at dodging as he was. Clint dropped to his knees, tucked his shoulder, rolled to the side, and rose into a crouch, bow once again at the ready. Art had just dropped down from the support beam and had stumbled on her landing, which gave him a perfect opportunity to attack.

_Twang!_

_Thwick!_

Art gasped as a sharp pain cut into her left side. Already off balance, the shock of pain was enough send her to the ground; the grating on the floor rattled as Clint walked over with heavy, determined footfalls. Art pushed herself up onto her right arm, lifting her left to see that Clint's arrow had struck her just beneath her ribcage. Blood bloomed around the arrow shaft, staining the blue of her uniform and turning it slightly purple. The more she moved, the more it stung, the arrowhead worming its way further into her body. She grunted and dragged herself away from Clint's advancing form, pausing only to draw her gun and point it at him. He smirked, his earlier comment coming to mind. She wouldn't shoot him, not even if he held his own gun to her forehead. But with grited teeth and a pained grimace on her face, Art pulled the trigger once. The sharpshooter hissed and swore as a bullet tore its way across his hand, which made him drop the bow. He watched as she grabbed the arrow in her side and yanked it out of her side, hollering in pain as she did so. The bloody projectile was tossed to the side with a disgusted fling of the hand. Then, with trembling hands, she rose to her feet and faced him square on. The gun in her hand clattered to the floor as she met his gaze defiantly.

"Guess we'll see how quick severe wounds heal, now," she panted, covering her bleeding side with her right hand. Art then nodded to their fallen weapons. "Why don't we fight like real warriors, then? No weapons. No nothing."

Clint smirked and tilted his head to the side flexing his fingers into fists, a couple of his knuckles popping.

"Let's get started, then."

Clint swung first, his blow directed at her jaw; Art's forearm flew up and blocked the jab, her other fist swinging down to hit him in the stomach. He stumbled back as the wind was knocked out of his lungs, keeping his eyes on Art, who hard her arms thrown up in a boxing position. Lunging forward, he managed to grab her round the waist and tackle her to the ground. Clint flipped her around so her back was pressed against his chest and his arm was wound around her throat. With his free hand, he wrenched the earpiece out, his nails scratching into the flesh behind her ear; he couldn't have her calling this in to anyone. He tossed it aside and continued to attempt his attempt to choke her. Art yanked his arm away long enough to free herself, dodge rolling to the side as she coughed. She curled in on herself, momentarily forgetting she was in the midst of combat as her body trembled and shook something horrible. She pushed herself up, swaying on her feet as she tried to slow the bleeding of her side wound with her hand.

Once Clint was back up, he squared off against her, and took the chance to scan her over, figure out what his advantages were. She was listing to the left in a distinct attempt to protect her wound. Art took that moment to do the same, but, unfortunately, he had the advantage. Clint sprung forward and made to throw a punch at her head again. As both her arms jerked upwards to block the blow, Clint carried through with his fake-out. His right fist swung downwards and smashed into her left side, right against the bloody hole the arrow had left. A shout of pain left Art's lips and she staggered to the side as Clint placed one hand at the base of her throat and the other remained clamped around the wound. He leaned forward till his mouth was by her ear.

"I guess we'll see how long it takes for you to heal," he growled. Clint's leg shot out and pulled hers out from under her, and with the aid of the hand at the bottom of her throat, he shoved her to the ground.

There was a loud, unpleasant clang as her head hit the floor, soon followed by her body. Art groaned and rolled onto her side, curling in on herself as her head began to pound. Everything around her was spinning, everything hurt. Then the ground disappeared beneath her and she became vaguely aware that Clint had picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She bounced against his back as he began to walk. A door squealed open as she finally gained her bearings. She braced her bloody right hand on his lower back and reached the left up towards his quiver. If she could just get hold of an arrow… if she could just _barely_ cut him enough to drop her… But it turned out dropping her had been his intention anyway. The door he opened had been one to the stairwell. Without a care, Clint flung Art off his shoulder, over the railing, and sent her plummeting to the landing below.

When Art met the grating, all the air in her lungs left in a hiss. Every muscle in her body throbbed. It took all the effort she had to roll onto her back, gasping in air as she did so. Clint looked as though he were making for the stairs that would bring him down to her level, an impassive, stoic look on his face as he moved. Guessing he only meant to repeat the action he'd just carried out, Art flipped back onto her stomach and fitted her fingers into the spaces of the landing's grating and pulled herself forward. After a couple good drags, Art was faced with the next set of stairs and she did what seemed best. Throwing her weight forward, she tumbled down in a pile of limbs; each stair dug into her back, side, legs, and shoulders till she finally came to rest at the bottom. She lay completely still, forcing herself to breath slow and appear as though she'd passed out. Then she waited. Only a moment later she heard Clint pass back through the door, which shut loudly behind him.

With the aid of the stair's railing, Art hauled herself first to her knees and then to her feet, breathing heavily. She stood there a moment, winding one arm around her middle to press her hand against the arrow wound again. The bruises that likely painted her body were already beginning to heal and, much to Art's relief, the wound in her side was significantly less painful than before. From two flights of stairs above her, she heard a few loud bangs that could only have come from the door Clint had carried her through. Gunshots. If she knew Clint well––and she was fairly sure she did––that would've been him shooting the lock so she couldn't get back through. After taking another short moment to recover, Art pushed herself away from the stairs and staggered to the door behind her, which was hanging ajar.

Art stumbled out onto the detention level, the halls of which were completely deserted. Clint and his men _had_ to have been on the Helicarrier to free Loki. That was one of the only logical reasons they'd be there; and hell knew if they'd already gotten him out. So, while keeping one hand pressed to her side, Art took off in a jog towards the detention center. Spotting one unlucky S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who was sprawled across the floor with blood pooling around their head, Art took the gun from their holster and pushed it into her own. As she started moving again, the ship listed to one side, throwing her against the wall.

_All hands to crash stations. All hands to crash stations_, a voice intoned over intercom.

The Helicarrier leveled out some, giving Art more traction to keep moving. Her worst fear was realized when Loki came striding around one of the corners. Swearing in her head, Art immediately drew her gun and aimed it at him. She had no qualms about shooting _him_. When his eyes alighted on her, he grinned. Spreading his arms, he sauntered towards her, grinning even more when she stood her ground.

"Ah, Lieutenant," he hummed. Art flicked the safety off her gun.

"Drop the scepter, Loki," she demanded, having noticed he was in possession of said item again. Loki's brows rose and he looked to his hand as though noticing the scepter for the first time. Chuckling, he lifted it higher for her to see.

"What, this? Harmless, really…"

"Sure it is."

"It _is_ harmless as long as you obey me," Loki amended, face becoming darker. Dragging the scepter through the air, he pointed the sharp, curved tip of it at Art, the gem set inside of it humming and glowing bright. Loki tilted his chin downward so he could stare at her menacingly from under her browline. "You _will_ obey me, Lieutenant." Art's grip tightened on her pistol, finger slipping onto the trigger.

"What makes you say that?" she demanded. "I'd shoot you before I'd let that happen."

"Oh, would you?" He chuckled and sauntered another step forward, weaving the tip of the scepter through the air teasingly. His snarl suddenly turned into a grin as he laughed again, splaying his other hand through the air. "I shall like to see you try."

"Alright then, buddy. Let's dance."

Art pulled the trigger, firing a bullet that glanced off the armor covering Loki's shoulder as he turned out of the way. The scepter was swung towards her knees, but she leapt over it like a jumprope and landed on her feet without so much as a wobble. Grabbing Loki's wrist, she tugged him forward, ducked her head, and brought it up sharply so it hit the underside of his jaw. With a grunt, he stumbled back and angrily grabbed hold of his jaw. Glaring at her, Loki snarled and brandished the scepter at her with every intention to use it. Art pulled the trigger on the gun only to find that the magazine was empty. Groaning, she tossed it aside and lurched forward to tackle the Asgardian.

Loki slammed the butt of the scepter in between her shoulder blades, sending her to the floor with a grunt. Art pushed herself onto her back and placed her feet flat on the ground, ready to jump up. Just as Art was about to lurch to her feet, the tip of Loki's scepter appeared in her field of vision, hovering just over her chest; she froze immediately, knowing that one false move would render her his slave. The Asgardian smirked down at her, tilting his head like an animal who had just cornered his prey, a predator that was completely poised to jump for the kill. Loki chuckled and teasingly brought the scepter closer to her chest, causing her to scramble back desperately. He'd cornered her. The corridor was a dead end. Her back hit the wall as he continued to advance on her, chuckling as he did so.

"Oh, how the mighty falter," he teased. "I have heard so much about you, Artemesia, as I told you once before. You have heart. You would be quite the asset to my cause… One of earth's mightiest warriors." Loki reached down and curled his hand around her throat, hauling her up to her feet; he pressed her back flush against the wall and towered over her, like a lurking monster. Art wound her own fingers around his wrist, trying to pry his hand away to no avail. Fear shone in her eyes. He smirked and inched the scepter ever closer, enjoying watching her squirm. "You are fiercely loyal to those you care for… So, Lieutenant… Shall we see how loyal you _truly are _at heart?"

The simplest tilt of Loki's wrist caused the tip of the scepter to meet the middle of Art's chest. A stinging sensation bloomed from the spot the scepter touched, slowly spreading outwards. The sensation worked its way into her veins, taking over the whole of her body inch by inch. Her veins flashed blue. All independent thoughts and actions were ripped from her head. Everything that made her Artemesia Knoll was ripped apart and buried. It hurt just as bad as Schmidt's biology changing serum. It was agonizing. Then, just as she became mindless, as she became a hollow shell of her former self, something swarmed in. It was all consuming and heavy. It occupied her and made her whole again, made her keen to obey what she was told to do. The whole of her eyes became black before dissipating to reveal irises the color of the gem in Loki's scepter.

The fear on her face slipped away and was replaced by a stoic mask. The Asgardian slowly removed the hand from her throat, her own hands dropping to her sides as she gave him a respective nod. Loki grinned and stepped back, observing his new foot soldier; she stood with her back ramrod straight, her shoulders squared, and her hands poised for action. Her side still bled, but she made no indication that she was in pain of any sort. He chuckled under his breath. How _perfect_ this was. Her absence from their little defence team would only aid in tearing them apart, separating them from one another.

"We should get moving, sir; S.H.I.E.L.D. is likely to send agents this way to ensure you remain imprisoned," Art told him monotonously. Hair drifted into her eyes and she made no move to brush it out of the way as she marched forward and gained a bearing on their location. Pointing down a hall to the left, she looked over her shoulder at the man who now controlled every aspect of her. "The cargo bay is this way––it has the best access point to the outside."

"You shall lead the way, Artemesia," Loki said, gesturing her forward.

"Yes, sir."

Art led Loki through the maze of corridors the Helicarrier presented, navigating their path with ease. It would seem that most of the remaining agents had been informed of the security breach, because an agent barged around one of the corners, armed and ready. He took up his gun, aiming at the two two were making their way down the hall.

"Lieutenant Knoll, step away!" he shouted. Art stood her ground, unblinking, unmoving. "_Lieutenant Knoll!_ Step away from the prisoner!"

She tilted her head to the side and emotionlessly glanced over her shoulder. Loki, who looked calm as ever, clasped his hands behind his back and gave a miniscule nod. Accepting the silent order, Art turned back to the agent who barred their way at the end of the corridor and began to move forward. While passing a section of the wall that had been torn open, she reached out and wrenched a pipe free, brandishing the jagged end. The agent at the end of the corridor tensed. He suddenly caught sight of the unnatural color of her eyes, of the way Loki smirked behind her. Panicking, he placed a hand to his earpiece to begin a transmission.

"Lieutenant Knoll has been compromised! I repeat, _Lieutenant Knoll has been comp_––" His words were cut off as she swung the pipe around and caught him straight across the head. He collapsed sideways, the gun falling from his hands. She scooped up the assault rifle and trained her sights on the fallen agent. She fired twice, making sure the man was dead before bending over to remove his ID badge, pushing him out of the way with her foot when she was done.

Art continued to lead Loki through the Helicarrier, shooting down a number of agents that had been sent their way. On occasion, she'd revert to hand-to-hand combat, utilizing brute strength to get her way. After taking down the guard in front of the cargo hold doors, Art hoisted his body upwards and used his now limp hand to use against the scanner; once the door opened, she dropped the body unceremoniously and ushered Loki through the door first. On the other end of the cargo hold was the carrier that had brought Clint and his men in. It hovered there, waiting for Loki's appearance and his orders to leave. Art kept the gun tucked into her shoulder, ready to fire if necessary. Once Loki was in the carrier, she jumped in beside him and turned around to make one last move. There was a security camera positioned just above them. Making eye contact with the camera, Art lifted the gun and fired one last shot that shattered the lense.

Loki seated himself as the ramp of the carrier shut, looking rather pleased with himself. Art slung the assault rifle across her back, continuing to stand as they sped off. Loki stared up at her for a quiet moment and then smirked.

"Excellent work," he commended. She had already begun to prove her mettle as a combatant, as a warrior, as a strategist. That was exactly what he needed, what with the loss of Barton, something he could only guess had been due to the charming Agent Romanoff. Artemesia would be a valuable asset in the ensuing stages of his battle plan… and, perhaps, even beyond that. He would always need a good battle strategist, a good warrior. No, not just 'good.' _Excellent_. And she was, indeed, just that. Art nodded to him, face remaining completely stoic.

"Thank you, sir. Anything to keep you safe, sir."

"What has the Tesseract shown you, dear Artemesia?" Loki inquired curiously, leaning back in his seat. Art paused and stayed quiet for a moment, accessing what information she now possessed.

"Our final destination––New York City. It's big. It's a social hub, a place people look to, populated with just over eight million people. What better place to start the invasion? And, if I may suggest something?" Art inquired, remaining perfectly silent till Loki gestured for her to continue on. "Consider using Stark Tower. It's the tallest building in the city now and right in the center, too. Easy roof access for Selvig's device. From there you can conquer the whole of New York and draw the world's attention. Make them kneel."

"_Excellent…_" Loki hummed with a snake-like grin.

"We'll get in easily enough if I flash a S.H.I.E.L.D. badge at them; luckily, I've just aquired one." Art removed the ID badge she'd stolen from the dead agent from one of the pouches on her belt; all she needed to do was flash it at the security guards. The picture held no relevance. And if they thought it did, well, it would be a bad day for them. Marching up to the cockpit, she leaned forward and grabbed the radio, changing the frequency till she found the right one. Holding it up to her mouth, she clicked the button and waited for a short hiss of static. "Get me Eric Selvig."

_**Afterword:**_ _**I couldn't wait any longer. I had to get this chapter up. I've had this chapter planned for well over, say, six or seven months. I've known exactly how I wanted this chapter to play out, knew from half-way through Dawn of Change that this was going to happen. It went through some edits and what-not, but I'm quite proud of this chapter! I will admit, I'm also slightly apprehensive about it… not sure how all of y'all are gonna react to the turn of events; but, nevertheless, I hope you had fun reading it!**_

_**Review Replies!**_

**grapejuice101:** _This chapter was pretty big; the story has literally been building up to this moment. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**oXxgeorgiaxXo:** _We're getting closer to discovering what's making Art like that… though, I will say, though we're getting closer it's still a little ways off. But we will find out. And I like that you're theorizing… I love it when people theorize about my stories :D I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _Comic con was a blast––I got some Captain America merch and it sparked more inspiration for this story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter as much as the last one! Thanks again!_

**Magicteddybear:** _I'm glad that you're enjoying Art as an OC! She's, quite possibly, my favorite OC I've ever written. And I'm… unbelievably flattered you made an account just to review; I hope that the chapter didn't disappoint. I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**Miyu Mizuki:** _Artie probably won't get herself killed, but nothing good can really come of this, can it? Loki's had this planned since he first saw her fight. And he's still got plans. Oh, the plans he has… I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _I'm glad the tension came through! That chapter had to be as tense as possible so it could suddenly break at the end and lead into this one. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _Thank you! I was worried the scene wouldn't come out well, 'cause it was hard to work Art into it what with all of the overlapping arguments and whatnot. I figured she just needed to have an argument or two of her own in there. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _I couldn't bring myself to have her even see Coulson. That was version two of this chapter, and I just… couldn't do it. I couldn't. And I did get to see the Penguin in person! It was amazing, he literally has the most beautiful smile, it's like a ray of frickin' sunshine. I didn't get to see Stan Lee, but I was in the same building as him, so I think that counts for something! My friends got to meet him, though, and I'm extremely jealous. I actually haven't had the chance to see many episodes of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., but I might consider catching up and putting Art into an episode, maybe. If you have any episode suggestions, I'm all ears! And I read your chapter this morning and loved it! I'm really excited to see where you're going with it all! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**darck ben:** _Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this one as well!_

**Nik1804:** _I did enjoy Comic Con, it was a blast; I hope that you get to go one day, 'cause it's just an amazing experience. To be in a convention center with literally hundreds of people who are into the same things you are is just… mind blowing. I don't think it's cruel that you like Artie's somber side. I think that it's a very important side of her, one that's very in-tune and down to earth. I think she and Steve both have that side to them, the one that they put on for business and drop when it's not needed. And it is a nice reminder of what life was like for her before, when it was her and her Bucky Boy, laughing it up on the edge of camp. I'm glad the fluff is just fluffy enough, that's always the ultimate goal :) And the final battle does approach… and it's gonna be hella interesting. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _We get to see a more somber side of Tony next time; and he'll probably start laying off. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _Yay! I'm glad! I hope this one was up to standards as well! Thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those who added this story to their favorites/follows; it means a lot!**_

_**So, that's it till next time… and I really wanted to get this chapter up so I wouldn't torture you all (and myself) with the wait to get it up. I'm in a play that's going up next weekend and it's gonna get a bit hectic for me, but I've still got pre-written chapters ready! So, hopefully, the next chapter will be up wicked soon! Again, thank you to all of you who have taken the time to read! You rock!**_

_**~Mary**_


	14. Compromised

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

14\. Compromised

_**7:57 AM**_

Steve and Tony sat at the briefing table in a daze. Coulson was dead. It had been called not but ten minutes ago. Art wasn't anywhere to be found, and no one could get a hold of her. Steve had shed the top half of his suit, which had made him feel slightly claustrophobic. It was beyond concerning that Art couldn't be found. It meant she was either injured, Loki's hostage, or… dead. Both Tony and Steve looked devastated. Coulson had been a good man, a brave, happy man who had been killed by that bastard in green. Both were concerned for their missing teammate, hoping that she might stride through the door at any moment, toting a gun and a bloody leg, making remarks about 'that damn Asgardian.' Fury had his back turned to them and was shifting something around in his hands. Turning around, Fury held up what was in his grasp.

"These were in Phil Coulson's jacket." Fury met Steve's gaze. "I guess he never did get _you_ to sign them." With a flick of his wrist, Fury tossed the stack of Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty trading cards towards him. They were stained with blood that smeared across the glass table top as they skidded across it. Reaching out a sad, tentative hand, Steve picked up a card. It depicted himself in his Captain America uniform, saluting with a smile on his face. The entire left half was stained and smeared with blood. Picking up a second one, he was faced with the beaming image of Art. In the top right corner, through the blood, he spotted two capital cursive 'L's, flicked out in Art's beautiful handwriting. Then, at the very bottom, was her signature. Steve's frown deepened.

"We're dead in the air up here," Fury continued. "Our communications, our location on the cube, Banner, Thor… I got nothing for you. Lost my one good eye… Maybe I had that coming." Steve's brows pinched together when Fury didn't mention not knowing where Art had disappeared to. "Yes, we were going to build an arsenal with the Tesseract. I never put all my chips on that number, though, because I was playing something even riskier. There was an idea, and Stark knows this," Tony looked down at his hands, "called the Avengers Initiative. The ideas was to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more. See if they could work together when we needed them to, to fight the battles we never could. Phil Coulson died still believing in this idea, in _heroes._" Tony, gritting his teeth as his nose and eyes stung, pushed away from the table and marched from the room, head ducked. Fury sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "Well, it's an old fashioned notion."

Steve's head perked up somewhat at the word 'old fashioned.' Coulson had said the world needed some old fashion… But the touch of old fashion they had was down by one, and Steve had a feeling that there was someone who had known where his other half had gone. Fury made to walk away and Steve rose to his feet, still grasping the cards in his hand.

"Sir," he said, stopping the director in his tracks. "You know where she is, don't you?"

"Rogers…" Fury said quietly, tone sounding uncharacteristically soft. He turned to see Steve's face composed in a hard look.

"Where is she?"

Fury glanced over at Maria, who gave a slight nod of confirmation. Sighing, the director tapped a couple places on one of his monitors and flung one of the images off screen. A video popped up on the table top. Fury stepped up beside him, fingers hovering over the image the video was frozen on. It was security footage of a corridor on the detention level.

"We got a call, a couple minutes after Loki broke out… Just five words," Fury told him, tapping the screen. They watched as Art strode into frame toting an assault rifle with Loki following close behind. Steve tensed and inhaled sharply, watching as Art approached an agent at the end of the corridor. She raised her rifle and gunned down the agent. Steve watched in horror as she continued on with Loki calmly at her heels. He watched as she took down agents one by one, sometimes using her gun, sometimes using just her hands. "That call said 'Lieutenant Knoll has been compromised.' Loki got hold of her shortly after he broke out." Fury closed to video and pulled up another one, which showed the cargo bay. Loki was stepping into a carrier that was poised to take off and leave with Art following. She turned with ease and made eye-contact with the security camera. It felt as though she were staring directly at Steve, her facing completely emotionless. It was a look that pierced his chest, made his blood run cold, and then cut straight to his heart. It wasn't her. It just… _wasn't_. Then, raising her gun, she shot out the camera's feed. "_That_ is where Lieutenant Knoll is. Loki took her with him."

Steve's hands clenched into fists as another video queued itself up and displayed Art continuing to take down agent after agent with a mechanical precision. Anger rose in his chest. If he had insisted she come with him and Tony… if he'd insisted they stick together like they usually did, this wouldn't have happened. He'd lost her. He'd lost her and there was only one conceivable way to get her back.

"We have to get her back…" Steve's tone was dangerously quiet. His fists shook. His jaw was tight and tense. Fury exhaled quietly and splayed a hand through the air, as though he were about to make Steve try and see reason––because he was.

"Lieutenant Knoll is not our priority right now," Fury pointed out. Steve's eyes slowly rose and he fixed him with the angriest glare he could naturally muster. It was cold and sharp, like a biting winter wind. "Our priority is to get our systems up and running––"

"And discard this idea of heroes that you previously believed so strongly in?" he demanded. "Are you going to let your best man die for nothing? Are you willing to let Artemesia die for nothing? Because I'm not."  
"Rogers––"

Steve turned away from the briefing table and marched out of the room, feeling his nails bite into his palms. Loki wanting to take over the world was incentive enough to stop the bastard, but now that he had Art, Steve was all the more determined. He had been so close to losing her to Schmidt… there wasn't anything in the conceivable universe that would stop him from losing her to Loki.

As Steve moved through the halls, he could feel anger boil over into rage. A rage that roiled and mixed with terror and sadness. His fists shook and his jaw screamed at the pressure at which his teeth were pressing together. Everything felt hot. His vision was going fuzzy with tears. Letting out an angry roar, Steve spun and slammed his fist against one of the corridor walls, bare knuckles stinging at the impact. Slumping forward, his forehead hit the cold steel wall and his eyes fell shut, the darkness drawing a memory to the forefront of his mind.

_Steve, on his knees, stared down at the torn up gloves he was wearing. He was breathing heavily, breath appearing in puffs of condensation that dissipated into the misty air. It had been three hours since he'd lost his best friend. They'd returned to camp and, in his heart break, he'd disappeared into the woods, leaving behind all of the Commandos, all of his comrades. Overwrought by distress, sadness, and anger, Steve had used a tree as a punching bag, splintering bark and wood, slicing cloth and skin. Now he was exhausted and felt as though he couldn't possibly cry any more. But the stinging in his eyes told him he was wrong._

_Underbrush scuffled and drew his attention away from his hands. Through the mist appeared Artemesia. She was hugging her torso to fight of the chill, and her eyes were bright red, much like his probably were. He ducked his head to hide his face, the shadows of the evening falling across his cheeks. Art didn't say anything. She just stood there, just slightly less disheveled than he was. Her hair was a mess, her coat was half unbuttoned, and the tip of her nose was bright red. Steve suspected that she'd slipped into the woods to escape those who tried to tell her it would all be okay, when she felt like the world was crashing around her at a million miles a second. Art's eyes flickered from the splintered, chipped tree trunk to the soldier who had collapsed at the base of it. She slowly came to kneel in front of him, carefully slipping her hands into his. She stared at the cuts that he'd dealt to himself, thumbs just barely ghosting over the torn knuckles of his gloves. Lifting them, Art kissed the backs of his hands, eyes squeezing shut. When she released them, they just fell back into his lap._

"_Steve…" she murmured softly. He continued to keep his head ducked, only lifting it when a hand was placed on his cheek. Their eyes met, teary and blood-shot. Steve had lost a brother, Art a best-friend. If there was anyone he might allow to see him in such a state… it was her. As a sob escaped his lips, Art clasped a hand to the back of his head and pulled it into the crook of her neck. She kissed his temple and smoothed a hand through his hair. She didn't say anything because she didn't know what to say. She couldn't comfort him with words because she couldn't think of words that would comfort herself as well. Instead, Art just held him and he clung to the front of her jacket, sobbing into the side of her neck. She smelled of both warmth and cold._

_Eventually lifting his head, Steve looked at her and placed a trembling hand on her cheek. She'd started to cry again, face twisting into one of the most heartbreaking looks he'd ever seen. Steve, Art, and Bucky had been a team that was inseparable, such was how the name 'the three musketeers' came up. But now they were down to two, a team broken by sorrow and pain. But as Steve drew her into his arms and they clung to each other as they cried, he silently swore that it was a team that still couldn't be broken. They would stay strong for their fallen friend, for each other, and they'd never lose one another. Not again. Never again._

Opening his eyes, a tear slipped down his cheek. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he blamed himself for what had just happened to her. He'd seen the way Loki had been eyeing her like a hungry cat during their conversation in the detention center. Steve had watched from the briefing table, doing nothing but glare and cringe as they battled each other with words. There was nothing that could ever persuade him to ever _remotely_ compare Art and Loki on the same level. It would simply be wrong to do such a thing. They were so different, polar opposites. Loki was a shadow, a lurking darkness that wanted to consume the world and shove it into hell. Art was the light that wanted to battle that darkness, would do anything to ward it off… even put herself in the line of fire, like she had. Steve pushed away from the wall and held his head high, wiping the trail the tear had left behind. That promise to keep their team together was one he was hell-bent on upholding. It was just him and Art now, and he'd be damned if someone tried to drop the number down to one.

OOOO

Tony had been staring listlessly into the space where Loki's cell had once been. It had been ejected by said Norse deity, his blond brother locked inside. Now Point Break was god knew where, Loki had disappeared back into his mysterious bag of crazy, Bruce had dropped off the radar, Art was nowhere to be found, Clint was in the med-bay, and Agent Coulson––_Phil_––was dead. There was an unsettling feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that made the billionaire feel as though he were part of the reason all of this happened. It gnawed at the back of his head and made him think long and hard about everything that had happened in the last day. God, had it really only been a day? It felt like they'd been dealing with this shit for at least a week, if not more. But what better place to think of all this than the very spot that Coulson had been killed, where everything had gone so horribly wrong.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a blob of blue step into the room. That blob wasn't a blob, though. It was the finely muscled form of the one and only Captain America, the one and only Steve Rogers, who was somber faced. The two had put aside their differences to work together to get the engine back online, back working. It had been tricky, it had been tense, but they'd done it. And now there they stood again, an unlikely, unorthodox team, absorbing the heavy silence that surrounded them.

"He took her," Steve said, the timbre of his voice breaking through the silence. Tony looked to the World War Two soldier, brows slowly drawing together. Steve met his gaze and made a specification. "Loki, he… he took Art." Tony lifted his chin and inhaled sharply, the heaviness in his stomach growing. He might've accused Steve, in that moment, of being _too_ Captain-like, being too militaristic; if he really loved this woman, he would've been in a more emotional state. But Tony was well-acquainted with masks––both physical and metaphorical––and he could see Steve's cracking around the edges. His lips were twitching around the corners and his eyes were tinged with pink. His eyes were deeply troubled and there was an unbearable amount of heartbreak behind the stern visage he was forcing himself to uphold.

Tony rubbed his eyes and slumped forward till his forearms rested against the railing that separated him from the steel trap that had been long since secured shut. Tony's father had idolized Steve and Art, and made sure that Tony knew that. Tony had grown up on stories of them, about how utterly American and perfect Steve was, and how beautiful and brave Art had been. That had caused some form of spite towards the two, even if he might have once sat enraptured for Captain America's next story, or if he might have had a bit of a crush on Art from age five to six. But now they were real people to him and he was having trouble finding them as such. To him, they had just been stories, things that had once entertained him and had grown to make him roll his eyes. Steve and Art _were_ real people, though, they always had been. They still were. They had their flaws and they had, he supposed, their good sides. Art really did seem to be quite sweet, and Capsicle was, well, everything Tony expected him to be. But neither of them deserved to suffer. Not under the enslaving power of mind-control, not under the stress of knowing a loved one had been captured.

"Dammit…" Tony muttered, the heels of his palms pressing into his eye sockets. "How?"

"Went to make sure Loki wasn't escaping… she got there moments after he had. He got her cornered…" Steve trailed off, recalling what he'd been told. Tony exhaled slowly, shaking his head. Of course that was how she went down. Trying to make sure everyone else would come out unscathed, only to get scathed herself. What Lieutenant Liberty move to make. Steve, trying to distract himself, leaned up against one of the railings, and nodded to the spot Coulson had died at. "Was he married?"

"No. There was a, uh… cellist. I think…" Tony murmured the last part, suddenly appalled at the fact he didn't know. Steve crossed his ankles and his arms, glancing down at his feet.

"I'm sorry. He seemed like a good man."

"Hm… he was an idiot." The billionaire looked up and across the empty room at Steve, speaking as though his statement were a matter of fact. Steve fixed him with a nearly pained look, a shocked disbelief that creased his forehead.

"Why? For believing?" Steve deadpanned. Tony gestured to the empty room, referencing the previous events that had taken place.

"For taking on Loki alone," Tony amended, backing up a couple steps. From the look on Steve's face, it was clear that the super soldier had taken a quiet offence to the comment. Coulson hadn't been the only one that day to take Loki on alone. He could have very easily been talking about Art as well. But Tony's tone and face gave away nothing and Steve didn't have the energy to lash out.

"He was doing his job."

Tony made a nearly disgusted sound and shook his head; he began slowly making his way towards Steve, the soles of his feet brushing against the metal grating beneath them. "He was out of his league. He should have waited! He should have…" Steve pushed away from his resting spot and approached the billionaire. Tony's tone had made it clear enough that his snide, snarky remarks were to hide the pain he was feeling, the guilt of it all.

"Sometimes there isn't a way out, Tony," Steve told him softly.

"_Right_. How did that work out for him?" Tony inquired flippantly.

"Is this the first time you lost a soldier?" Steve asked as they crossed each other. Tony spun around to face him, anger in his eyes, which gleamed with what appeared to be tears.

"_We are not soldiers!_" he exclaimed in a trembling, quiet voice. There was a pause of silence. "I'm not marching to Fury's fife.

"Neither am I. He's got the same blood on his hands that Loki does. But right now we've got to put that behind us and _get this done_." Steve was used to giving pep-talks to down-trodden soldiers, to inspiring some form of courage––and god knew Tony looked like he needed it right now. Tony cast his eyes to the wall. Coulson's blood stained the metal in a macabre red streak. "Loki needs a power source, if we can put together a list––"

"He made it personal," Tony interrupted, looking away from the blood.

"That's not the point."

"That _is_ the point. That's _Loki's_ point. He hit us all right where we live, _why?_ Why kill Coulson, steal Artemesia?"

"...To tear us apart."

"Yeah, he had to conquer… his greed, but… he knows that he has to take us out to win, right? _That's_ what he wants. He wants to beat us, he wants to be _seen_ doing it…" Tony pointed at the floor repeatedly with his pointer finger as he thought of something. He strode back towards where he'd been standing before, on a slightly higher platform. "He wants and _audience_."

"Right, I caught his act in Stuttgart," Steve agreed, the pieces beginning to click together. Tony pointed at him and nodded––that was the perfect example.

"Yeah… that's just previews, this… this is _opening night_, and… Loki, he's a full-tail diva!" Tony spun around at the top of the steps, facing Steve with his arms spread out. "He wants… _flowers,_ he wants parades, he wants a… _monument_ built to the sky with his name plastered on––" Tony cut himself off, eyes wide. With his name plastered on it. Stark Towers. That bastard was headed for Stark Towers. Steve slowly raised his brows, clearly not catching on to what Tony was on about. "_Sonofabitch._"

"What is it?" Steve asked as Tony broke into a near sprint. If they were going into battle soon, his suit was going to need fixing––a lot of quality fixing in a frightly short period of time.

"Stark Towers. _That's_ where they're headed," Tony explained. Steve slowly nodded, following the billionaire out of the detention center.

"It's in the middle of the city, a perfect base of operations," Steve stitched together. "And if Art's with them… if they've got men in S.H.I.E.L.D. gear…"

"Security will let them waltz right in. I've got to make some repairs to the suit, but once that's done…" Tony trailed off as they walked side-by-side down the corridor. Steve nodded in understanding. Once that was done, they could be on their way.

"I'll get Romanoff and see if Barton's fit enough for duty," Steve said, peeling off towards one of the stairwells. Tony caught his shoulder, stopping the blond soldier. He looked Steve dead in the eye, completely serious as he spoke.

"If Barton's coming back to us, Artie will, too. Hold onto hope, Capsicle. We'll get her back."

OOOO

The door to the med-bay hissed open and Steve stepped through, once again in full-uniform. Natasha looked up from her spot at the foot of the empty bed. There was a question in her eyes. Steve nodded to her, face somber, and then said,

"It's time to go."

"Go where?" she inquired. Steve nodded vaguely in one direction or another.

"Can you fly one of those jets?" The door to the bathroom squeaked open and Clint, fully comprehensive again, stepped through. He was rubbing a starch-white towel over his hands, offering the Captain a nod.

"I can," he said. Though the sharpshooter appeared to be in good health and right of mind again, Steve glanced over at Natasha to get her approval, her confirmation of her friend's state. She nodded, straight faced. Steve returned his attention to Clint, arching an inquiring eyebrow.

"You got a suit?" A nod was his reply. "Then suit up." Steve turned to leave but was stopped as Clint stepped further out of the bathroom, continuing to twist the towel around.

"Wait," he said, "Where's Artie? I… I need to apologize for something I did… something that I… I just barely remember but can't… can't get out of my head."

Clint could just barely remember the time he'd spent under Loki's control. He could remember not being able to control his actions, remembered being unmade and then stitched back together into someone strange and different. But one thing he could vividly remember was shooting Art in the side, tossing her off the third deck landing. Remembered her crawling away and throwing herself down a flight of stairs to get away from him. The sharpshooter watched as Steve tensed, muscles in his jaw visibly jumping. Steve met Clint's gaze and delivered the news that neither he nor Natasha knew.

"Loki took her."

"Took her?" Natasha asked slowly. Steve turned his gaze to Natasha and gave a sharp, single nod.

"Just like what he did to me?" Clint asked, voice dangerously flat. Steve nodded again. Clint swore under his breath and tossed his towel back into the bathroom.

"How'd you get him out of it?" Steve asked the redhead, who had crossed her arms and shifted the weight on her feet. Natasha nodded to Clint and said,

"Hit his head really hard."

"Think it'll work on Art?"

"Don't see why not––unless she's got a steel plate in her skull, or something."

"Good thing she doesn't, then," Steve responded before turning on his heel. Clint and Natasha followed him out.

"What's the game plan?" Clint asked. They rounded a corner and narrowly missed running into a small group of agents, who were carrying an injured comrade to the med bay. Steve's head quirked to the side as he began to speak.

"We're heading to New York, to Stark Towers. Loki's gonna start his invasion from there. Fury doesn't know about this––"

"What?" Natasha snapped in surprise, head whipping around. Steve sighed through his nose.

"He said his priority was to get all systems back online. By the time that's done, the world will likely have plunged straight into that higher form of war Thor was talking about. And, I don't know about either of you, but I don't exactly want Agent Coulson to have died for nothing."

After they had all finished suiting up and gotten the okay from Tony, the trio made their way towards one of the quinjets that sat readied in the interior hangar. Clint had changed out of his all black gear and into his S.H.I.E.L.D. regulated uniform and had his trusty bow in hand––and, god, did it feel good to be himself again. A couple agents paused as they saw Captain America, Black Widow, and Hawkeye marching through the hangar, but, as was typical, didn't stop them and got out of their way. The three marched straight up the ramp and into the back of the quinjet, startling the young pilot inside. He lurched to his feet and began to recite what he was likely taught in training.

"You're not authorized to––"

"Son," Steve cocked his head to the side and shot him a look, "just don't."

Natasha jerked her head towards the exterior of the quinjet, a steely look shining in her eyes.

"Step out, agent, this is official business," she told him. The pilot grudgingly agreed to move, holding up his hands in resignation. Once he was out, Clint hit the button that lifted and closed the ramp before making his way towards the cockpit. He sat in the pilot's seat and slipped on the headset, adjusting the microphone so it was lined up with his mouth.

"Stark, do you copy?" he asked, beginning to flick switches and press buttons.

"_Loud and clear,_" Tony said in response. "_You taking off?_"

"Just about. Coordinates are set for New York City…"

"_Good. I'm going to jet ahead, get to Stark Towers and see if I can get ahold of Reindeer Games and Artemesia._"

Natasha settled into the co-pilot's seat and Steve stood at the entrance of the cockpit, holding onto the frame of the doorway for support. The interior runway cleared for them and they taxied towards the end of it, picking up speed at a steady, safe, rate. Soon enough, they were out in open sky, cutting through the air as they sped towards their final destination.

_**Afterword:**_ _**I'm unbelievably happy that you all enjoyed the last chapter! I was also very, very happy and surprised that a lot of you didn't see that twist coming; I've had that planned out for SO long. And decided to torture you all a little bit more by having Artie **__**not**_ _**show up in this chapter. But you'll get a lot of her next time.**_

_**Review Replies!**_

**RSDobb:** _You'll have to wait and see who Art gets matched up with to fight whilst under mind control. It might not last horribly long because, you know, she's not a bad guy, but we'll get some good mind-controlled!Art in there. I'm so glad you've been enjoying the story! Thanks again!_

**darck ben:** _Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter!_

**tkczombie:** _Art's gonna have a tough time when she comes out of the mind-controlledness; and Steve and Art are gonna have interesting interactions in the near future. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _No Art this chapter, but we'll get to see her next chapter, see what she's been up to. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**HalsGal1231:** _Indeed he did; I've had that planned for so, so long. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _I'm glad you love the plot twist! It's the first major plot twist I've ever written, and I'm glad it turned out well! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _She's going to have a really tough time when she comes to, having to deal with the fact that she's killed innocent men. She and Clint both. She is going to have one hell of a bad day when she comes to again, especially when she finds out about Coulson. Also, I'm a couple episodes into Agents of SHIELD and I can't stop watching it; and I've got some ideas! Thank you for the episode suggestions, too! I've got some funny ideas that have to do with Ward… :) Again, I hope you get to update your story soon. Thanks again!_

**Magicteddybear:** _Loki's gonna get a mouth full when Artie comes to, and he's not gonna be happy about it. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _It's been a couple days, but here's the chapter! No Art, which is torturous, but we get to see her next chapter, which should be interesting. I hope you enjoyed reading! Thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _I actually suspected people to have seen the mind-control thing coming; and I'm pleasantly surprised not many suspected it to happen! And Steve is pissed. Quietly so, but pissed none the less. There might be a couple of Cap-packed punches coming Loki's way. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**highwayblues1:** _I'm super glad that you're enjoying the story so far and I hope the chapter was up to par with the others! Thanks again!_

**Lili Tommo:** _Artie's got herself into a bit of a situation, hasn't she? I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**isanna:** _Thank you! The warrior theme will continue forward through all the stories I write with Art in it, 'cause it's quiiiiiiiite important. Ima have fun with Loki-Controlled!Art. Next chapter's an interesting one. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**AlwaysChillin98:** _Hope I didn't make you all wait too long; it's only been a couple of days, ahaha! I can't thank you enough for your lovely review––I'm glad that Art's been woven in well! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _I'm happy I was able to surprise you! Thanks again, hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
_**Nik1804:** _I'm very, very happy that you keep coming back to read more. It means a lot that you've been enjoying it so much. And seeing Art under the influence of the mind gem is going to be interesting, since she's definitely not acting like herself. And I think it's really important to show the more serious/somber side of Steve. Because when you do what he's done, you can't really come out completely unscathed, and that affects personal life as well as professional life. I'm beyond thrilled you've been enjoying this story so far, and I hope you keep on reading through everything I've got planned. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Princess Jaqueline Chess:** _I'm still so happy that you guys didn't expect her to become compromised! But I'm happy you've been enjoying the chapters so far; I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**adamo393:** _Aha, Loki __**should**_ _be worried for when she gets out of it. He should also be worried about Steve coming for him. He should just be overall worried about everything, but he's Loki, so he thinks he's got everything under control. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _Steve's not having an easy time with this. He still has to go into Cap Mode, but he's obviously having trouble keeping himself composed. You still continue to rock! Thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _Thank you! I was really excited to write and post the last chapter because I've had that planned for so, so, so long! I'm really happy you enjoyed it. I'm also glad that Art's unwillingness to hurt Clint in the beginning really contrasted to later on when Loki had her taking down everyone that came their way. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

_**And thank you to all those who added this to favorites/follows! It means a lot!**_

_**I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Next time around we get to see Artie again and how she's faring under Loki's control. And then… the battle begins. Super excited! Anyway, I hope to get the next chapter up soon 'cause I've got it all written up and ready to go! Thank you, again, for taking the time to read! You all rock!**_

_**~Mary**_


	15. Following Orders

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

15\. Following Orders

_**7:57 AM**_

The black van slowed to a stop at the rear entrance of Stark Tower. Art jumped out of the back, Loki and Selvig following closely behind. Pressing a button on an intercom system by the door, Art stared up at the camera situated above the door. Static hissed through the speaker, followed shortly thereafter by a voice.

"_Good afternoon, what is your business at Stark Towers today?_" a security guard inquired. Art lifted the S.H.I.E.L.D. badge up, thumb covering the photograph and name. With the other hand, she pressed the button again, allowing her voice to carry through the speaker.

"Artemesia Knoll, otherwise known as Lieutenant Liberty, here on official S.H.I.E.L.D. business," she responded firmly, authoritatively. There was a pause on the other end before there was a buzzing and clicking sound, signalling that the door had been unlocked. A security guard on the other side pushed the door open, smiling at them kindly as they were gestured inside. Art stepped through and stood to the side, allowing Loki and Selvig to pass. The security guard's brows furrowed at the number of people stepping inside, but didn't question it. No one questioned official S.H.I.E.L.D. business. They also eyed the bloody spot on the side of Artemesia's uniform but, again, said nothing.

A number of Loki's other minions filed in carrying crates filled with the scientific equipment, and Art pulled aside two of the men in S.H.I.E.L.D. combat gear. She nodded to the two guards that were at the security door, which had fallen shut, the two standing on either side of it now. Loki's men glanced at them stealthily before returning their gazes to their secondary commander––Loki had decreed that her orders were to be followed when she gave them––and awaited their orders.

"Take the guards out once we're done down here. Do it out of view of the cameras, discard of the bodies, and then assume their positions. No one can know we're here. Understand?" she ordered quietly.

"Yes, Lieutenant."

She nodded sharply and continued towards the elevator, where Loki waited patiently. Selvig had gone up in the service elevator, having needed to get to work as quickly as possible, accompanied by the men carrying the crates. Art gestured Loki into the elevator and stepped inside after him, staring at the screen situated beside the doors, which slid shut. After scanning the numbers on the screen, she picked the highest number, the tip of her finger tapping the touch sensitive screen. A message popped up, reading:

_Please Enter Your Security Code_

Art's jaw tensed and she exhaled sharply. She thought hard for a long, silent moment; there had to be _something_ that Stark would put in as his passcode. Something that was marginally clever but easy to remember. Clever enough to come off as ordinary, as too simple for a man like him. Tilting her head to the side, she punched in 1, 9, 7, 0. Nineteen-seventy. The year he was born. The screen flashed with the message '_Welcome back, Mr. Stark_.' Art smirked as the elevator started to move.

They arrived in Stark's penthouse, which was just as flashy as the man who owned it. Most of the exterior walls were windows, allowing for an amazing view of New York City on all sides. Loki, with a grin on his face and his scepter in hand, strode towards the windows. It was a glorious view, he decided upon. A perfect spot to watch as he took the world by storm, watched it all dissolve into chaos. He grinned over his shoulder at Art, who was stood about five feet behind him. She was at attention, chin held high, shoulders squared, feet braced apart, and eyes straight ahead. The perfect soldier waiting for her orders.

"I commend you on finding such a prime location," Loki complimented.

"The Tesseract, sir, it––"

"_No_," his voice was hushed and lulling, "it showed you the locale. _You_ chose this exact spot, this… _magnificent_ tower, from which I can watch your world burn." Art's face remained emotionless as he spoke. Not even a single wince as he said 'watch your world burn.' "And you…" Loki turned around, vaguely waggling his finger at her, "_You_ shall be my champion. You shall fight along side my army to bring me the victory."

"Of course, sir," Art confirmed. Loki smiled widely and strode straight up to her, standing so there were only mere inches between them. He tilted his head to stare down at her, watching as she kept her head level, not even moving to meet his gaze.

"Barton was quite correct about you, Artemesia…" he hummed, clasping both hands behind his back. "You are quite the remarkable woman. Your passion and prowess could match that of Lady Sif… and she is _quite_ the warrior." Art lifted her head then, tilting it back somewhat in order to meet his gaze.

"Thank you, sir." Though she said her thanks, no emotion of it showed in her eyes or flickered across her face. It was, quite surely, a compliment, even coming from him. But all that mattered was the mission. "I'm going to check the rest of the penthouse, make sure no one else is here."

Art made a slow, pacing round of the penthouse, going room to room, checking each corner, each suit-filled closet, and every bathroom. The views from every angle of the floor were amazing, but she didn't take the time she might've once taken to admire the gorgeous, sweeping views of New York City. One of the rooms was outfitted wall-to-wall with glass screens and various other machines, meaning it was probably one of Stark's many, _many_ labs. Art slowly made her rounds of the spacious room, eyes attentively sweeping over everything she passed.

"_Miss Knoll_," said a voice. It was British and seemed to have come from the ceiling, which caused Art to jump into a defensive stance. In an instant, Art had her gun drawn and poised at the ceiling. She'd been outfitted with a pistol after they'd touched back down on the mainland and she'd been given more rounds for her assault rifle, preparing her for the future battle. She'd also picked up a knife, which was sheathed at the small of her back, ready for hand-to-hand combat. "_How did you get in?_"

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"_I am Jarvis, Mr. Stark's artificial intelligence system. I do believe you are here without authorized access._" Art spun around and moved in the other direction, searching for the source of the voice. As she crept towards the other side of the side of the room, Jarvis came back online. "_There is something wrong with your internal functions, Miss Knoll. Your brain activity is quite odd._" Art spun back around as though she were being followed by a ghost. Images flickered to life on one of the screens, showing a number of live, strange scientific readings under the name 'Artemesia Knoll.' Her photograph was situated beside it. "_I'm afraid I will have to alert––_" She fired two shots into a speaker she'd spotted, which sparked and smoked as the bullets pierced it. Jarvis went quiet.

With that interruption settled, Art exited the lab, knowing full well that she hadn't killed the A.I. system. But it would have to do, since she didn't have the time––or the orders––to go about permanently silencing it. She reached up and braided her hair back so it wouldn't fall into her face; the last thing she needed in battle was to be distracted by her hair. Art's earpiece hissed to life, a voice speaking into her right ear.

"_Lieutenant Knoll, the guards have been taken out,_" one of the men from downstairs said. Placing her finger against the earpiece, she gave her response.

"Good. Contact the men upstairs and tell them to haul ass out of here. We'll need them on the ground."

"_Understood, ma'am_."

"Selvig, what's the progress up there?" Art inquired, knowing that the scientist was listening in.

"_We're almost good to go!_" Selvig excitedly exclaimed, the sound of wind slightly marring his words. He was up on the roof, setting up the CMS device. "_We're going live in a minute!_"

Art returned to the sitting room to find that Loki had stepped onto a balcony sort of area, gazing out across the city with a smile on his face. She followed him out, the sunlight dancing across her face as she stopped just behind him, hands once again clasped behind her back. He made no indication that he knew she was there, and instead gazed across the expanse of city before him with a proud smile on his face. His chin was held high, one of his dark brows was arched, and his shoulders were squared. Loki looked like a king. A king that she was unwillingly willing to serve.

"Selvig is about to activate the device," she informed. He nodded and chuckled, smiling wider than before. Art fell into silence again, eyes drifting over the city-scape. It was so peaceful. So quiet. Down below, everyone was going about their daily routines unsuspecting, unprepared. And, disturbingly, that didn't bother Art. Not in the least bit.

"This was your home, was it not? Before you were drawn from your time?" Loki suddenly inquired, catching her off guard. She looked at him with pursed lips, fingers twitching.

"Yes." She scanned the horizon and made out where Times Square was. Raising an arm, she pointed in that general direction, towards where her apartment had been. "Over there somewhere. It's hard to tell from up here." Loki hummed disinterestedly, clasping his hands and the scepter behind his back. After a moment of quiet where they just listened to the whistling of the wind, he spoke again.

"I believe your Metal Man is approaching." Loki nodded towards the horizon, where something cut through the sky, the glitter of metal catching Art's eye. She moved to grab her gun, but Loki raised a hand to stall her. "No, no. I'd like to what it is he thinks he can do. I shall let you know when your services are needed." Art's stance relaxed and she nodded slowly. Waving his hand again, and letting his head languidly turn and loll back in the slightest, he smirked at Art. "Go wait inside, dear."

Without a hesitation, Art did as told, turning on her heel and marching inside. She stood across from the bar, back to the seating area situated just behind her. After a couple of quiet moments where she was purely on stand-by, both Loki and Tony stepped inside; Loki from the balcony, Tony from the landing strip, completely void of his suit. Tony made eye contact with her, and she watched as his brows creased in one emotion or another. Whichever it was was not important to her. Tony then put on an air of casuality, trotting down some steps looking as though he didn't have a care in the world. Loki chuckled and smirked at him, adjusting his grip on the scepter.

"_Please_ tell me you're going to appeal to my humanity," Loki chuckled deeply in a mockingly hopeful voice. Tony shook his head and paused, making eye contact with the Asgardian from across the room.

"Uh, _actually_, I'm planning on threatening you," Tony told him. Art watched as Loki's face crinkled up with amusement, a large smirk appearing on his face. He gestured to him with the tip of his scepter.

"You should have left the armor on for that."

"Yeah… it's seen a bit of mileage. And you've got the uh," Tony twirled a finger through the air, gesturing to the scepter, "Glowstick of Destiny." Loki smirked down at it as Tony slipped behind the bar. "Would either of you like a drink?" Loki chuckled and passed the scepter off from his right hand to his left, shaking his head in amusement.

"Stalling me won't change anything," he assured. Tony's brows shot upwards.

"No, no, no––_threatening_," he reminded. "No drink, you're sure? How 'bout you, Artie-Tartie? I heard you were a big fan of whiskey back in the day." He turned to see if he had gotten a reaction out of her, but found her stoic-faced, staring at him with unsettling, unearthly blue eyes. "Well, I'm having one." Glancing up at Art again, Tony nodded in her direction. "What are you planning on doing to Artie? Just curious. We all sort of wanna know why you turned her into one of your personal flying monkeys like you did with Barton." Tony searched her face for a reaction pertaining to that reference. Nothing. Her face was disturbingly blank, like all of her emotional lines had been severed and tossed in the trash. "'Cause Artie would never hurt a fly unless it bit her. Don't see why you'd want to take that sort of mind into your arsenal."

"You think her so harmless? Did you not see what she did to those she called her comrades?" Loki asked with a dark grin. Tony arched both eyebrows as he placed a tumbler on the bar top.

"Is that your play, then? For Artie? Make her do things she'd never do, make her hurt and kill her comrades and friends so that when she wakes up she suffers because of what she's done? You really are a sick bastard."

Loki chuckled and fixed Tony with a look before he slowly began to circle Art as though he were a prowling cat. He was eyeing her as though she were a prized piece of meat; one that he had gotten his hands on and had no intention of giving back up. He smirked at Stark over her shoulder, narrowing his icy eyes.

"Who ever said I was planning on letting her go? I plan on keeping her in my control for as long as feasibly possible. You see, unlike most in your team––you, Barton, Romanoff––she is militaristic of mind. She understands how to give, receive, _and_ follow orders. There is no better mind to serve as my commander, do you not agree?" Loki inquired in a reverently hushed voice. The muscles in Tony's jaw worked themselves hard when Loki finished circling Art, stepping forward till he was toe-to-toe with her. "She will be at my side till she dies."

"I know a certain star spangled man who would contest that statement will everything he's got," Tony pointed out cooly. He raised a crystal decanter filled with whiskey. "You sure neither of you want a drink?"

Frustrated with whatever tactic the billionaire was attempting to use, Loki grimaced and turned tail to walk towards the window. Art's gaze followed him but her head stayed facing forward. He scanned the skies, which were a lovely, pale blue, dotted with wisps of white clouds. It was all so perfectly calm.

"The Chitauri are coming," he nearly growled. "Nothing will change that." Tony dropped some ice cubes into a tumbler, letting them clink loudly. Loki spun back around. "What have I to fear?"

"The Avengers," Tony told him, pulling the stopper out of the decanter. Art's head tilted to the side and Loki became visibly confused as he paced back towards where he'd been standing before. Tony made a face and waggled his hands a bit as though he were pleasantly amused by what he were about to say. "That's what we call ourselves. Sort of like a team. Earth's mightiest heroes and that sort of thing."

"Yes," Loki chuckled, face crinkling with amusement again, "I've met them." He swept a hand out and gestured to Art, who continued to stand at attention. "I have one."

Tony faked a smile. "Yeah! It takes us a while to get any traction, I'll give you that one, but, let's do a head count here. Your brother, the demi-god," Loki hissed out a breath in annoyance, casting his eyes away as he shifted the scepter around in his grasp, turning away to begin to pace, "_two_ super soldiers, living legends who kinda live up to the legend. And, just 'cause you've played your mind tricks on Artie here, doesn't mean we aren't gonna get her back. A man with _breathtaking_ anger-management issues…" Loki smirked over his shoulder at that one, "a couple of master assassins, and _you,_ big fella, you've managed to piss off every single one of them." Tony took a sip of his whiskey and then gestured to Art, who looked as impassive as a rock. "I mean, she can't really emote anything right now, I'm guessing, but I'm fairly sure she's pretty pissed off somewhere deep inside."

"That was the plan," Loki said in a hushed voice, as though it were supposed to be a secret. Tony lifted his glance and pulled a fake wince.

"Not a great plan." He rounded the bar and made to approach them. "When they come––and they _will_––they'll come for you."

"I have an army," Loki growled.

"We have a _Hulk_," Tony countered smoothly.

"Oh, I thought the beast had wandered off?"

"You're missing the point! There's no throne, there is _no_ version of this where you come out on top. _Maybe_ your army comes and _maybe _it's too much for us, but it's _all_ on _you_. Because if we can't protect the earth, you can be damn well sure we'll avenge it." Tony took another sip of his whiskey as Loki slowly stalked towards him. Art reached for her pistol, but a subtle flick of the Asgardian's hand stopped her cold.

"How will your friends have time for me when they're so busy _fighting you?_" Loki hissed. There was a quiet whirring sound as Tony's eyes widened. Well, he hadn't exactly planned on _this_. The tip of Loki's scepter hit the center of his chest… pinging right against the Arc Reactor. Nothing. Loki's cruel smile fell into a look of confusion. Lifting the scepter and dropping it forward again, the same thing happened. With confusion creasing his brow, Loki said, "This usually works."

"Well, you know… _performance issues_…" Tony pulled a face of false embarrassment, "You know, not uncommon; one out of five––" He was cut off as Loki's right hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. Using anger to power the throw, Loki tossed Tony a few feet to the left, where he fell to the floor with a sharp _thwap_. Loki smoothly sauntered towards him.

"Jarvis, anytime now…" Tony muttered under his breath as he staggered to his feet. Loki grabbed Tony by the throat again, squeezing harder, hauling him closer.

"You'll _all fall_ _before me!_"

"Deploy!" There was a tittering sound across the room that caught Art's attention. Loki heaved Tony upwards, crushing his windpipe further. "_Deploy!_" With a smash, Loki hurled Tony out the window and sent him plummeting towards the sidewalk below. A door on the other end of the room opened and out shot something red, shiny, and jet powered. Before Art could shout a warning, it shot out and knocked her down before doing the same to Loki as it sailed after Tony.

Art groaned. Her head had hit the floor first. While her eyes flickered open, everything went a bit wobbly; her vision went fuzzy and her a sharp pain shot through her head. It was as though something were struggling to push past whatever magical barrier Loki had created in her head. Shaking her head, the feeling disappeared. She rolled to her knees and immediately drew her gun, once again at the ready, dismissing whatever had just happened in her head. Loki had already staggered to his feet, standing in front of the hole in the glass, toeing the edge of the drop he'd just sent Tony over. Said billionaire suddenly rushed into view, wearing a brand spanking new Iron man suit. Loki glowered at him, jaw set angrily, eyes gleaming with rage.

"And there's one other person you pissed off!" Tony exclaimed. "His name was Phil."

Loki made to raise the scepter, but Tony reacted quick as a whip, shooting him with a shot from his repulsors. Loki was knocked down, skidding across the floor. Art managed to fire off a couple shots at Tony as he hovered there, distracted by what was happening to the sky. The CMS device had worked, sending a beam of blue light into the sky, a beam that tore open a portal to a different universe, a different spot in space. The invasion had begun. Tony sped off into the sky, leaving a fuming Loki and an ever-stoic Art. She walked over to Loki and extended an arm, a gesture of help. Loki grabbed onto Art's arm and allowed her to aid him in standing up. He glared at the hole in the glass Tony had been at moments before, a snarl pulling at his lips.

"Artemesia," Loki rumbled in a low voice. Her head swiveled to look at him, her Tesseract blue eyes focused on his face; there was a redness already appearing around her eyes, much like the unhealthy bruising that had risen around Clint's. "I believe it is time for you to go find your dear Captain… I have no doubt that he has been missing you." One of her eyebrows arched at the order he'd posed as a suggestion.

"What is it you would like me to do with him once he is found, sir?" she inquired in a steady voice. Loki reached out and pinched a strand of hair that had fallen against the side of her face. He moved it behind her ear, gaze intent on his own fingers; he then clasped her cheek with a harsh grip, fingers pressing into her skin with a painful amount of force. But none of that pain showed on her face. Not a single bit of it. He leered forward, their foreheads nearly touching.

"_Kill him_," Loki growled. The order didn't even make her flinch. Instead, she nodded, holstered her gun, and turned towards the window once his hand dropped away.

"Yes, sir."

Art backed up till her back was flush to the wall. Then she pushed forward into a run, dipping into a slide for the last quarter of the distance. As her body met open air, her fingers found purchase on the edge of the window, which allowed her to swing forward till her boots nearly touched the glass of the tower's exterior. That was when she let go. Her body met the edge of the building, which she managed to stay flushed against as she sped down its side. The air whipped against her face and made her eyes begin to water. The city was blurring by as she slid towards the ground, which got ever closer at a breakneck speed. Art was half-way down the building when she started to hear explosions, started to see smoke wafting towards the sky. Chitauri sped by on flying chariots, which was _just_ what she needed. Judging the speed of one that was approaching, Art curled her legs inward and let the soles of her boots touch the glass.

It was enough to stop her movement. It was enough to give her momentum to launch herself away from the side of Stark Tower accompanied by the sound of shattering glass. Art's body hurdled through the air gracefully, arms outstretched as she simultaneously moved forwards and downwards. She grabbed onto the edge of the flying chariot and felt it dip as her weight was added. The Chitauri driver hissed and clicked at her, speaking a language she didn't understand. But as she hauled herself up, as she made eye-contact with the driver, a silent understanding passed between them. It must have been the color of her eyes, that distinct blue that belonged anywhere but earth. Holding onto the seat for dear-life, Art watched the invasion start from a bird's eye view. Watched as the Chitauri began to destroy the city that had been and always would be her home.

And she felt nothing.

Her thoughts were locked on a singular track of mind. On Loki's orders.

_Kill Steve Rogers._

_**Afterword:**_ _**And here we have Artie under Loki's influence. I originally had no idea what she was going to have been doing this chapter, but I figured it out. I'm pretty happy the way this turned out! I hope you all enjoyed reading it!  
Review Replies:**_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter; I hope this chapter was up to par with the others! Thanks again!_

**Provider of odd things:** _It'll definitely do you good to remember she was captured/began to be brainwashed by HYDRA. It's gonna pop back up in Winter Soldier. And I plan on doing Cap. America: Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, and maybe an episode of Agents of SHIELD. I'd toyed with putting Art into other movies, but couldn't find a good fit. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _Sorry! I just love putting teasers out, it's too much fun. Preludes to excitement just __**have**_ _to be painful because it sets the tone, ahaha! I know __**exactly**_ _how she's gonna get bonked on the head. I know exactly how. And I think it's important to portray both sides of Steve; otherwise I feel like it's not a genuine portrayal of him. And I have such, such plans for TWS. I recently rewatched it to see how the ideas were going to fit in and I got more ideas and it's gonna be action packed, secret filled, and feelsy. Ahh, I can't wait! And I'm glad you enjoyed the moment where Steve nearly snapped. I figured he probably wouldn't be happy with Fury regarding the whole 'main priority' thing. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; I always love getting to read and reply to your reviews! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _Loki isn't gonna be happy once Art snaps out of it. Not a single bit. I hope you enjoyed reading chapter! Thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I'm glad that the flashback worked; it was a last minute addition 'cause I didn't know what to write to span the time between Steve leaving the bridge and going to see Tony. But I'm happy that it worked out. I thought it would have been a moment he would think about Bucky, since he'd already lost a friend and certainly isn't willing to lose Artie. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _The Avengers are almost assembled; much excite! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**oXxgeorgiaxXo:** _I thought that Tony would probably be nicer to Steve since Art's been compromised and has probably been wreaking havoc in Steve's head. The last thing Tony needed to do was make him upset. And it's gonna be real hard for Artie when she comes to again; 'cause the last thing she needs/wants is to hurt innocent people. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _Thank you for the review! Yeah, last chapter was the beginning of the build up to the battle. And I'm only a couple episodes away from finishing season 1 of Agents of SHIELD; I don't know which episode I'm going to use yet, but Art's definitely gonna get in there, 'cause I've got fun ideas about how she's gonna interact with them all. I've got some real funny ideas on her and Ward interacting. Again, I'm very, very sorry to hear about your friend and hope that everything is going well. _

**shugokage:** _Thank you! Initially I wasn't going to have last chapter be purely about the rest of the team, but I thought it worked out nicely. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RSDobbs:** _I love cliffhangers, but I'm sure that you already realized that, ahaha! I'm very happy that you've been enjoying the story so far! It means a lot that you've read this far; thanks again!_

**isanna:** _I'm super happy that you enjoyed last chapter! I felt like I took a gamble making that chapter without having Art in it, but I'm happy that everyone enjoyed it. I've got SUCH plans for Winter Soldier. Like… I've got things woven into Dawn of Change and this story that will all be revealed in TWS. I'm legit so excited. Like, don't worry, it's not too soon to hope for TWS, 'cause it's coming up fast! It's also not too soon to hope for Age of Ultron, 'cause I've got ideas for that too. I hope you enjoyed the story! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _Hang tight, a fight is a-comin'! Also, I'm almost done with season 1 of Agents of SHIELD and my emotions are in pain. I can't… I just can't even. But I'm going to get Art to meet some of the team between now and Winter Soldier. I've got some funny ideas that include Ward and Fitz-Simmons. And, of course, Skye. So that'll come into play eventually! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _Cap and Artie are definitely gonna give Loki what's coming to him. Like, they're well aware that they probably shouldn't beat up a guy who's technically SHIELD's prisoner, but they'll probably do it anyway. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _Steve's gonna have fury like hell hath never known. And we finally get to see Art in some real, serious action! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**1startist:** _Thank you! I always try and make sure Art is woven in and not just shoved into scenes, try and make it as natural as possible; and Loki is gonna get his! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those who have added this to their favorites/follows; it means a lot!**_

_**The battle of New York begins next chapter! We'll see how Steve and Art's encounter goes once she finds him… Looking forward to writing that scene! I know exactly how it's gonna go. I hope you all are excited for next chapter! Thanks again for taking the time to read! You all rock!**_

_**~Mary**_


	16. Captain America vs Lieutenant Liberty

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

16\. Captain America vs. Lieutenant Liberty

Art dropped from the Chitauri's flying chariot, feet touching down on a spot of gravel on a rooftop. She landed in a crouch, one hand braced on the ground, the other falling to the holster on her thigh. Tilting her head, she stood straight while listening to the sounds of chaos around her. People were screaming, things were exploding, chaos was reigning. A shadow filled the sky, and, looking up, Art calmly stared at the Chitauri Leviathan that was worming its way through the portal, from which dozens of Chitauri were still pouring. The battle had begun. War was beginning to run rampant; and there she stood, watching it all. She had a perfect view of the bridge, of the streets that led towards and away from Grand Central Station, which was already taking a beating. Taxi's were juxtaposed across different traffic lanes, cars were flipped over, and some of them were on fire. A bus had skid to the side of the road and crashed, surrounded by debris that the Chitauri had been kicking up and causing. Scanning the street with attentive eyes, Art noticed a quinjet had landed in a small plaza just down the way, and its inhabitants were making their way down the road. She spotted Steve's figure, darting down the road in a streak of red, white, and blue. He was running fast. But she was going to get to him faster. A sharp pain throbbed right behind one of her eyes, making her hiss and grunt; she pressed the heel of her palm to her right eye socket, wincing as that pain intensified before disappearing again.

Art stepped up onto the edge of the building, stood there for a moment, brushing hair out of her eyes seeing as it had fallen out of its braid during her flight with the Chitauri. She stared down at what was left of the fire escape. A blast from a Chitauri energy rifle had demolished a good portion of it, rendering it a torn up mass of black and grey metal. But there was a straight shot down to the portion that was in tact. That was only halfway down. Taking a casual step forward, Art stepped off the edge of the residential building and cut through the air. Just before her feet would smash into the fire escape, she grabbed onto a piece of metal that jutted out above her to stop her fall. From there, after a rather painful jerk as she came to a stop, she dropped gracefully to her feet. She grabbed hold of the railing and swung herself over, dropping down to the next level and grabbing onto the railing there, doing the same with each one till she finally reached the ground. Her boots crunched against rubble and the smell of burning motor oil and smoke hit her nose. Chitauri zoomed past overhead and explosions continued to dot the soundscape. Art turned in a circle till she faced the direction Grand Central, and began to make her way down the street, marching with a frightening intensity.

_Find your dear Captain, I have no doubt that he has been missing you. __**Kill him**_**.**

_At least I've got you, Artie. _Art hissed as Steve's voice entered the forefront of her mind. There was that pain again, just behind her eye. She kept on walking, pushing past the pain and ignoring it as it subsided into a dull throb. The pleasing tenor of his voice clung to the inside of her mind, almost becoming a faint, constant tone.

Up ahead, Art caught sight of Steve, who was making his way under the bridge. Her eyes narrowed and all thoughts of Steve as a person left her head. He was her target. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was almost as though she suddenly had tunnel vision and Steve was at the end of that tunnel. Her course of direction changed and she made for the overpass once she realized that the element of surprise was on her side and her best option. She ignored the fact that Natasha and Clint were off to her right, helping people out of the crashed bus. They were not part of the mission. They were not part of the plan. Not yet, at least. They didn't matter. Art jumped over the hood of a mostly mangled car, formulating a plan of attack. If she could, literally, get the drop on him, she'd win control over the situation and everything would go much easier. He would have little time to fight and he'd be dead before he even knew attacked him. Climbing onto the edge of the overpass, she walked half of its length and then paused once she heard Steve's voice talking into his intercom below. The moment he appeared out from under the overpass, Art dropped down, poised for attack.

Art landed with her legs dropping heavily onto either of Steve's shoulders, which caused him to stumble. She withdrew her knife and yanked his head back with one hand while the other made to drag the blade across his exposed neck. Steve, who had his eyes clenched shut, shouted out in surprise and grabbed hold of her right wrist, stopping her progress. He gave a sharp twist, which made her cry out in pain, fingers automatically releasing their grip on the knife. Shifting her legs, Art clenched them around his neck, still perched atop the shoulders of the man she now called her target. Steve was in a fighting mood, though, something she hadn't exactly taken into account. With all of his strength, he pried her legs from around his neck and forced them upwards and backwards in attempts to throw off his attacker. As Art was forced from his person, she yanked off his headgear, freeing his now messy blond hair. She somersaulted backwards and came to rest in a crouch, head whipping up to glare at the man––the target––in front of her.

Steve spun around, defensive in stance, and felt his body freeze up when he finally laid eyes on his attacker. He saw Art rise to her feet, eyes trained on him intently. Her stance was text-book perfect, her face stoic, her eyes a frightening, unearthly blue. She was just staring at him. Staring at him with an intensity that caused a shiver to run down his spine. There was an assault rifle slung across her back and her right hand was poised to draw her pistol. A hole had been torn on the left side of her suit, revealing a bloody gash in her skin that, thankfully, wasn't bleeding anymore. He felt as though he simultaneously knew and didn't know the woman before him. It was Artie, it certainly was, but it also wasn't. It was her body… but it wasn't her mind.

"Artie…?" he questioned slowly, lowly. He hoped that, perhaps, the color of her eyes was a trick of the light and she'd managed to fight her way out of Loki's hold. But as her body tensed, as she drew her pistol, he knew that hope was crushed. She had just attacked him, after all. She was still, forcibly, one of Loki's minions.

He threw up his shield as she fired twice, the bullets twanging off the vibranium. He peered over the top of the shield, watching as she narrowed her eyes at him. It was a cold, calculating look. Two of her methods had just failed. The knife hadn't worked and as long as he could see her about to shoot, he could use the shield as defence. Art kept her sights trained on him, eyes narrowed. The killing blow could be dealt from behind via bullet or knife. His headgear was already gone, so that was convenient. When it became clear she was in the middle of figuring out her next move, Steve slowly lowered his shield.

"Artie, this isn't you," Steve told her.

"Yes, it is," she said in response, voice so cold and monotone it made Steve's chest tighten painfully.

"No, it isn't. Loki's in your head, pitting you against us––against me."

"I'm a good soldier. I do as I'm told; and I was told to kill you."

Steve saw her finger inch towards the trigger. Reflexively, he tossed his shield, which connected with her wrist and send the gun toppling from her hand as she fired, the bullet embedding itself into a nearby car. She shouted in pain for a second time, grabbing at her throbbing wrist. A twinge of regret made itself known in Steve's stomach from knowing he was the reason she was in pain. But he knew that, in order to snap her out of this, he was going to have to hurt her. Steve had told Clint, Natasha, and Tony that he wanted to be the one to bring her out of this stupor, to bring her out of Loki's mind control. And he was going to do just that; but he needed to find an opening––and that opening was likely to present itself in the middle of a fight. He would need his shield, though… and that was just behind Art now.

Slowly, Art raised her head with anger gleaming in her eyes furiously. Her fingers curled into fists, the plates of metal in her gloves securing themselves tightly. Launching all of her weight forward, she threw her fist at Steve's face. He dodged the blow by ducking to the side, throwing up an arm to block for good measure. She swung at him with her left fist, blocking it as well; he then grabbed both her wrists to prevent her from trying again. She threw her knee into his stomach sharply, which surprised him enough to loosen his grip on her wrists. Art wrestled them free and dove to the right, ducking into a somersault. As Steve straightened up and backed up towards his shield, he realized she was making for her knife. Art snatched it off the cracked pavement and brandished it at him with a dangerous but lifeless gleam in her eyes.

Steve took a chance to turn around and grab his shield, hearing Art begin to spring towards him. He spun around just in time and charged forward a few steps, hitting her straight in the stomach with the shield. Art grunted as she hit the ground, making sure her head didn't hit the pavement. She lay there for a minute, breathing hard with the knife loosely resting in the palm of her right hand. Inhaling sharply, Steve dropped to a knee beside her and drew his left arm back, preparing to strike her with the shield in hopes of performing that 'cognitive restart' that Natasha had mentioned. In the blink of an eye, Art tossed the knife into her left hand and swiped upwards, successfully cutting through Steve's uniform and into his skin. He hissed and, in his surprise, let his guard drop. Lurching upwards, Art tackled Steve to the ground. Her knees were situated on either side of his hips and her left hand pinned his shoulder down after swapping the knife to her dominant hand. With a rage that didn't match the person she truly was, Art swung the knife up in her right hand and plunged it down towards Steve's chest. In a panic, Steve caught her wrist and pushed upwards with all his might. It was enhanced strength against enhanced strength. Their arms and hands shook, and everything was only made worse when Art moved her left hand from his shoulder to his throat.

Art bared all of her weight down on his neck, rising onto her knees for a better elevation. Steve's free hand grabbed at her arm, fingers curling around her bicep with a near painful force. It was suddenly and frightfully clear that there was going to be no reasoning––or attempts to reason––with Art whilst she was on a mission to kill. Steve could feel the full brunt of Art's strength pressing down on his throat, which was mightily uncomfortable and her attempts to choke him were working. The hand with the knife was inching ever closer to his chest as he attempted to simultaneously focus on breathing and pushing the weapon away. His vision began to blur around the edges and his throat began to burn as oxygen became scarce. Steve finally gave into the fact he couldn't breath and reallocated his efforts whilst still struggling to push Art's hand away. Releasing her arm, Steve mentally apologized to the woman who loomed above him and he made a grab for her own throat. He didn't grip tightly, but the action was enough to legitimately surprise her; surprised her enough for him to wrench her hand with the knife as far as he could tug it and then throw her off his person.

While Steve coughed and gasped as air resurged into his lungs, Art slowly raised her head to see that her pistol was within reach. Sheathing the knife, she curled her fingers around the pistol's grip and dragged herself to her feet, noticing that Steve had done the same. Before he'd even risen to full height, Art kicked the backs of his knees so he fell forward again. He panted as he finally regained his breath and attempted to spin around only to feel a gun muzzle get pressed against his temple, which gave him pause.

"Face forward," Art said viciously. Steve slowly continued to turn towards her, only to have his shoulder shoved, which brought him to face front again. "I _said_… _face forward_."

"Artie, _this isn't you_," he attempted to tell her again. He began to turn his head only to have her forcibly turn his head back and shove it down so it was ducked. The muzzle of the gun was pressed to the nape of his neck, which would, certainly, be an instant kill shot the minute she fired. Art's jaw clenched and stared at the back of his blond haired head as he knelt before her, his back facing her.

"Shut up and face forward!" she exclaimed, voice beginning to tremble. Steve noticed the tremble. He realized that she hadn't just shot him the minute he was on his knees. Art was _hesitating_. She was still under Loki's control, but she was hesitating; which meant if he could stall long enough… get her derailed… this could all be over.

"You wouldn't shoot me," Steve said with confidence.

"Yes, I would. I _will_." She pushed the muzzle harder against his neck, but Steve didn't react. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply.

"I know you, Artie. You _won't_ shoot me…"

"Those are my orders. I'm a good soldier. I follow orders…" Her voice had trailed off, a tremble still present. The gun began to tremble against the nape of his neck, which could only mean her hand was beginning to shake. Art suddenly hissed, her left hand flying upwards to press against her eye; the pain in her head had returned, sharp and unpleasant. But it was fleeting. She returned her gaze to the back of Steve's head and placed a shaking finger on the trigger. Something in Art's chest began to twinge, and her nose started to sting. Her eyes teared up and her hands were shaking. She told herself to pull the trigger, told herself to shoot him and finish the mission… but she couldn't. It was like her finger was made of stone and didn't obey the command she'd given it. Why couldn't she kill him? Why was her body stopping her? Inhaling sharply, she repeated the phrase that Loki had always been telling her. "I–I'm a good soldier…"

"You are a good soldier, Artie… and that's how I know you won't kill me. And if you do…" Steve slowly turned around, staying on his knees, lifting his head to stare up the length of Art's arm till his eyes found her face. It was contorted in a look of pained confusion. Tears glimmered at the edges of her eyes, threatening to fall like drops of crystals from eyes that weren't her own. He shifted forward, keeping eye contact, till the muzzle of the gun kissed his forehead. "Then do it while looking at me."

Art's jaw subconsciously began to shake and her mouth dropped open to gasp in air. She was staring at Steve down the bridge of her nose. His face was so calm and so smooth that it would seem that he was welcoming death like an old friend. For some reason, she couldn't even conjure the _thought_ of killing him while looking straight into his soft blue eyes, staring at the way hair had fallen against his forehead, where the end of her gun was pressed.

"Face…. forward… _please_…" she pleaded as a dull throb began pounding at the front of her skull. Steve held her gaze as the gun shook against his forehead. He'd reached some sort of break in Loki's hold; he'd gotten her to plead, gotten her to cry. _That_ was his chance. With a single nod, Steve slowly turned back around and tucked his toes so they had purchase against the pavement. He exhaled just as slowly. Then, on the inhale, Steve quickly pushed himself up and around, swinging his left arm up and back. The edge of the shield met Art's forehead sharply, which sent her stumbling to the right.

A sound left Art's mouth that was caught somewhere between a hiss, a grunt, and a shout. The hit on the head hurt like all hell, and, to make it worse, it had jostled something loose inside. What had come loose was who she truly was. The barrier that Loki had created cracked and two different versions of herself began to go at war. One half wanted to obey Loki's orders, the other fought to think for herself. Balance thrown off and head pounding, Art teetered forward towards the ground. She was panting and groaning, both hands flung out to catch herself. Her face screwed up as the tear in the magical barrier Loki had created grew larger, cracked further. The term conflict of interest might've come to mind if she'd had the capacity to actually think in that moment. Art took a knee for a moment, exhaling her breath in a whooshed sound. When she rose again, teetering this way and that, swaying unsteadily on her feet. Sweeping around to face Steve, she peered at him through narrowed eyes that seemed to be fading and brightening in shades of blue. From Tesseract blue to the gentle color Steve loved.

"Steve…?" she asked quietly, as though realizing it were him for the first time. There was intonation in her voice. A familiar intonation that made hope swell inside Steve's chest. "You… _oh_, goodness…" Art groaned and hunched in on herself, hands gripping at her hair. When she stood straight again, she shakily wielded her gun at him, eyes once again that bright, unearthly blue. "I'm gonna…" The color of her eyes faded to a more natural blue. "Steve, just… just get outta…" Back to Tesseract blue, and a throat tearing shout left her lips. One of her fists mashed itself against her forehead. "_Stop fighting!_" she shouted to herself. Once her gaze found Steve again, she raised the gun, which shook like an autumn leaf in her grasp.

Launching himself forward with a quiet apology leaving his lips, Steve tackled Art to the ground before she could even let off a single round. He winced when he watched her head smack against the pavement with an audible thwack. Art's eyes fluttered shut and she groaned, one arm weakly rising to touch her forehead, where the shield had connected. Steve had his arms braced on either side of her head, and his body hovered just above her, which would prevent her from wriggling away should she still be under Loki's control. But as a full-fledged grimace overtook her facial features, Steve tentatively reached out a hand to brush hair off her forehead.

"Artie…?" he asked quietly. Art's eyelashes fluttered and brushed against the tops of her cheeks like the wings of a startled butterfly. When her eyes slowly, and finally, reopened, they were the oceanic blue that Steve remembered. Her gaze slowly followed the line of Steve's nose and met his eyes, a faint, dazed, exhausted, and pained smile appearing on her face.

"Steve…" she said in an exhale.

Steve smiled the most brilliant smile she'd seen him give in a very long time. He clasped either side of her face with both his hands and then kissed her sweat dampened forehead. Art smiled as her eyes fell shut again. That smile suddenly twisted into a pained frown as she let out a cry of pain; her muscles seized and her head throbbed something horrible. She could _feel_ the wall of control Loki had on her shattering and it had to have been the most god-awful feeling that no comprehensive words or phrases could describe. It was like being ripped apart at the seams. It was like being dragged over hot coals having already been flayed and doused in gasoline. It was like being shot ten dozen times with a machine gun. It was _horrendous_. Tears slipped from the corners of her tightly clenched eyes and Steve watched on in horror. There was nothing he could do to help; he'd done all he could. Clint had told him that her transition back to her right state of mind wasn't going to be a pleasant or a pretty one, and that process had just started. A gasp of air rushed into her mouth and left in a whoosh of what sounded like a sob.

Then, her body relaxed, her face went calm––she'd passed out. Steve stared down at her for a moment, brushing strands of hair away from her face with gentle fingers. Sitting back on his heels, a frown tugging at his lips, he took the gun from her grasp and slipped it back into her holster. He rose to his feet and slipped one arm under her shoulders and the other behind her knees, lifting her limp frame into his hold. Ducking his head to kiss her forehead, Steve allowed his eyes to fall shut and his brows to crease. He couldn't take her with him to set up the perimeters. But he knew just who he could leave her with and know she'd stay safe. Clint and Natasha were the only others on the ground, and they said they'd handle the Chitauri while he dashed off to help the police. While he made his way back towards their other two teammates, he watched Art's face, wondering what was going on in her head as she warred with herself internally.

OOOO

_When Art opened her eyes, she was mightily confused. She was lying down, but not on the hot, hard concrete she'd been sprawled across before. The ground beneath her was plush, like grass, and she could just barely make out the soft feel of a cotton blanket beneath her palm. Carefully pushing herself upwards, she found herself in Central Park, but a Central Park of times passed. Men and women wandered about in stylish nineteen forties styled dresses and suits, walking arm-in-arm as they enjoyed the beautiful day. Art blinked rapidly and shook her head as though it might dispel this… vision, this illusion. But when she shut her eyes and opened them again, she was still there. She placed both hands on either side of her face, hands brushing the curls of her hair, which hung in the way that they used to. Brushed out pincurls._

"_You feeling alright?" asked a familiar voice. Looking down, she saw Steve lying on the plaid patterned blanket that she was sitting on. He had an arm tucked under his head and a smile on his face. It was, quite possibly, one of the most alluring, handsome sights Art could say she'd seen in the whole of her life. It all looked so natural, but something about all of it felt… wrong. It was like a memory… a memory that had never happened. A very __**nice**_ _memory that had never happened._

"_What are we doing back here?" Art asked, taking note of her favorite pair of Mary-Janes at the foot of the blanket. A sketch book sat beside them, depicting a sketch of herself covering her face with an embarrassed smile on her face. Pencils lay discarded in the lush grass, and a basket had been set aside with a checkered dish-towel tossed over the top. It smelled like freshly mown grass and her favorite floral perfume that she used to wear whenever she had a night out on the town. Steve pushed himself on his elbows and made a face as though he were thinking._

"_Well… we __**were**_ _having a picnic." He fully sat up and shifted closer to her, smiling at her in the sweetest way possible. He smelled like hair gel and a pleasantly spiced cologne. "A very nice one, too." The smile faded as he tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "You never answered the question. You feeling alright?" He cupped her cheek in his palm, and Art just stared at him._

"_Yeah, it's just my head," she immediately replied, as though it were scripted. As if on cue, a sharp pain radiated through her head and she hissed, dropping her head into her hands. Her nails were painted red, matching the color of her dress, which was smoothed out around her legs. Hadn't she just been in the middle of a Chitauri invasion? Hadn't it been two-thousand-and-twelve? Not nineteen-forty-something? Steve placed both hands on her shoulders and gently prompted her to lay backwards, her head again supported by the ground. Art cracked her eyes open and saw that Steve was laying on his side, supported by one elbow. She took him in and then gave a slight shake of her head. "This isn't right…"_

"_You're right," he agreed with a nod, serious faced. He then shifted forward and placed one hand on her cheek, lowering his lips to her in a sweet, gentle kiss. Instinctively, Art's eyes fell shut and she hummed at the sensation of the kiss. Steve drew back, smiling gently, forehead resting against hers. "This is much better."_

_Art stared up at him and he returned the look adoringly. His hair was swept into a perfect side-flick, and his eyes were gleaming happily. Art placed a hand on his cheek and, feeling slightly entranced, drew him back in for a kiss. He was only happy to comply, sweeping his thumb across her cheekbone. But there was still something… __**off**_ _about this incredibly pleasing moment. Art's brows furrowed as another shock of pain rippled through her head and caused her body to tense. Steve drew out of the kiss, only to press one to her forehead, gently sweeping a hand over her hair._

"_It's okay…" he murmured, almost as if he were comprehending the pain she felt. "Just focus on me…"_

"_Steve, I… I don't understand…" she finally told him, voice squeaking at her head throbbed. Her eyes flicked open, gleaming with unshed tears of pain. Art had taken hold of his shirt lapels, scrunching them up in her grasp. Steve prompted her to keep talking with a gentle nod, continuing to comfortingly brush his fingers through her hair. "We were just in two-thousand-twelve, not nineteen-forty-five, or whenever this is… We never… This… this never happened. This moment…"_

"_I know."_

_Art gaped at him in confusion._

"_What?"_

"_This moment never happened. It isn't a memory. You're going through a mental reboot, you're expelling Loki's grasp on your mind. You're taking refuge in a time and a place that you feel most comfortable in. With the person you feel most comfortable with," he explained. Art stared at 'Steve' with confusion clearly written on her face. He just smiled at her. "You'll wake up in a minute. It's going to take a moment to get back to your normal self, but you're gonna be back to your usual self, I promise, Artie."_

_Art opened her mouth to further question this version of Steve, but another sharp pain spidered its way through her head. It smarted and grew in intensity, which nearly drew a cry of pain from her lips. She placed both hands over her mouth to smother it, brows furrowing, eyes squeezing shut, forehead crinkling. 'Steve' smoothed her hair out, murmuring words that sounded comforting in tone; but whatever he was saying, she didn't know. The pain slowly inched its way through her head to her neck and shoulders, creeping ever lower and lower till it seized control of every single nerve and blood cell. What was it she equated it to earlier? Ah, yes––being ripped apart at the seams. Like someone was taking a seam-ripper to every fibre of her being, like she was a patchwork quilt someone wanted to take apart and put back together again in a different––but familiar––pattern… the pattern of her true self._

"_It's time to wake up, Artie," she heard 'Steve' whisper. "It's time to wake up."_

_**Afterword:**_ _**There are a handful of chapters that I feel are my best work, and this is one of them. I initially had trouble figuring out how the fight would go but then it just… happened. I tried to make it realistic as I could, and some of it is repetitive, but so is fighting. Bless Steve and his heart of gold… but he had to give her a good knock across the head. **_

_**Review Replies!**_

**Provider of odd things:** _I'm very glad I was able to do the scene justice; it's one of my favorite scenes too, and I sat and reread it over and over and over again, trying to figure out if it worked. I'm also happy to hear that Art fit into the scene well! It was a struggle to keep her in because, you know, she was mind-controlled and couldn't really contribute to the conversation. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _Oh, dear god, I could not imagine watching all of that in real time. I would have died from the suspense and the torture. I can tell the AOS fandom has a good store of healthy pain. I'm feeling it. And I hope you'll look forward to Art meeting that crew; it's gonna be funny. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _Art didn't succeed in her mission, of course, but now she'll be back to normal soon enough! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I'm happy the contrast between normal!Art and Loki-Controlled!Art came across. And I had to throw in the almost-got-her-back last chapter, it was important for her break in character when Steve was telling her to kill him as she looked at him. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**darck ben:** _Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying the story; thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _I'd never make Art kill Steve; that would be cruel, and it would also prevent all of my future plans from happening, ahaha! But it makes for great tension! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _Thank you! Last chapter and this chapter were just a blast to write and I'm very happy that you enjoyed the last one. I was flattered to hear that the ending scene of the previous chapter gave you chills. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**highwayblues1:** _I'm super glad you're enjoying it so far! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _I'm glad you're looking forward to all the stuff that's to come; I have such plans for AOS. I have such plans for everything, ahaha! I'm really excited we're getting closer to Winter Soldier, 'cause I've gotten a couple new ideas I'm excited to insert. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Rubyia:** _And Loki shall be sorely disappointed to find out that he's lost his 'second in command.' I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _Teasers are love. Teasers are life. I'm just a very tease-y sort of person, I guess; and I knew from the moment that Art would be brain-washed that Steve was going to be the one to get her out of it. He wouldn't have let it happen any other way. I agree with you about TWS––hands down my favorite Marvel movie so far. I just… I saw it two or three times in theatres and I just sat captivated by it each time. And now everytime I watch it I just get more ideas for Artie in that movie, and, oh, the emotions that shall arise! So excited! And I'm willing to go that darker route… Dark can be fun when written and handled well. Oh, don't think of your reviews as cumbersome, I love reading them! They make me smile and they make me happy! I've had a stressful month and your reviews always lighten my day when I see them! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _Writing Loki is a lot of fun, 'cause I don't get to write characters like him all the time, so I've had fun flexing that side of my writing/creativity. Art really is gonna have a tough time when she comes-to again. I hope you enjoyed the story!  
_**Jo:** _Last chapter was epic? Huzzah! My goal was reached! That was a chapter and the chapter before that were entirely written to build up to the events of this one. I hope that this one was as epic, or more so (I hope) than the last! Thanks again!_

**Savi:** _I'm happy you found the story! And I'm happy that this story made sense, even without having read the previous one; I guess I summed up the important bits pretty well then! I'm super happy that you like Artie! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thank you so much for your lovely review and for taking the time to read!_

**saramichellegellarfan1:** _I take it that you enjoyed last chapter? I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those who read and added this to their favorites/follows; it means a lot!**_

_**And that's it for now! Next time around Artie wakes up and gets immediately thrown into battle; oh, what fun this shall be! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter; thanks again for taking the time to read, everyone!**_

_**~Mary**_


	17. We Are The Warriors

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

17\. We Are the Warriors

Art groaned as she was pushed back into reality. Her head was pounding as though it were at war with itself. Some part of her was still clinging to the control Loki had had over her, but the majority was fighting to break her free of that hold. Her back arched itself off the ground and her head harshly banged against the metal of the underside of a car.

"You okay there, Artie?" asked Clint, who had just stood to shoot an arrow. She stared up at him for a moment before her hand shot out, unbidden, and grabbed onto his forearm. Her nails bit into his skin and the force with which she held onto him was pain-inducing. Something in her head struggled to tell her that _he_ was the enemy, _he_ was who she needed to take down. But it was a flickering thought that was interlaced with one that reminded her that this was Clint. Her friend. Her comrade. Her brother in arms.

"The question is… are you… going to be okay once I'm… once I'm done… ugh!" Art hissed and let go of Clint's arm, winding her arms over her head. A sharp pain throbbed inside her skull, just as painful as the moment Loki had infiltrated her mind. The soldier curled in on herself, whimpering as she fought to force the Asgardian's influence from her body and become herself again. Clint looked over at Natasha as he ducked below cover again, a silent question in his eyes. She nodded to him.

"I got this," she told him, standing to full height in order to shoot at more Chitauri. Clint reached out for Art, only to have his hands smacked away.

"No!" she screeched, rolling to the side till she was on her hands and knees. She hunkered down and grunted, screaming at the pavement beneath her. Clint wove his arms under hers and locked them around her shoulders, hauling her up and backwards into his chest. He held her as she thrashed and tried to break his grip. But he knew that letting her go could mean that she could possibly hurt herself or hurt others as she fought the last of Loki's mind-control, as she ran the final stretch to being herself again. "_Let me go!_"

"Just hold in there, Artie…"

Art's boots kicked at rubble and scraped against the cracked street. Her arms were thrown out with one hand grabbing at Clint's knee and the other scratching for the back of his neck. It was like watching someone being tortured from the inside out, and he had to wonder if this is what it had looked like when she'd been injected with the super soldier serum. He winced as she emitted a choked-sob, sounding utterly desperate and pained. She tensed and let out a throat tearing scream. Clint then felt her movements begin to weaken, her conviction begin to wane. Like a child tired out after throwing their worst tantrum, Art stopped moving and panted heavily. Her head lolled backwards against Clint's shoulder and she shook it a couple of times as her mind fogged over.

"Clint…" she grumbled. Art shook her head a couple more times, clearing the fog that seemed to have been obscuring her thoughts. "Oh… god… my head…"

"It's okay…" Clint murmured. "Just give it a minute."

"Mmf…"

Slowly, ever so slowly, Art felt herself regaining control of her body and mind. It was like drinking a cool glass of water after a hard day working out in the sun. Everything felt clearer, everything felt better… everything felt right. When she twitched her fingers, it was because she wanted to. She was thinking freely and for herself, and any need to follow Loki's goddamn orders was gone. Art stared up at the sky and, for a brief moment, thought there hadn't been a more beautiful sight. Letting her head loll forward so her chin rested on her chest, Art sat forward and felt Clint release her from his hold. She rolled to the side and dragged herself backwards till her back hit the underside of the car they were using for cover. Clint, now free from holding her back, rose and shot off a couple of arrows. Natasha ducked back down and reloaded her guns, nodding to Art with a smile.

"Good to have you back, Lieu," she said. Art groaned and shut her eyes.

"Oh, god, is that nickname catching on?" She raised a hand to touch a tender section on the left half of her forehead, just by her hairline. A hiss passed between her teeth when her fingers grazed over the bruised spot. It was a long, thin bruise, and, if she remembered right, it had been dealt by the edge of Steve's shield. Somewhere nearby, something exploded. Art jumped and, whilst groaning, snatched her gun out of its holster. "Mind catching me up on what I missed?"

Swinging up to her feet, and staggering a bit, Art aimed at an oncoming Chitauri and shot it square in the chest. Firing again, she shot straight through its forehead. As she ducked down again, Natasha popped up.

"Portal's open," she said, nodding to the sky.

"Caught that bit," Art replied, wincing as the car shook as something else exploded.

"There are giant eel things in the sky," Clint added on, nocking an arrow. Art popped up again and leveled her sights on her next targets. She missed and swore under her breath as the bullet simply grazed one of the Chitauri's armor.

"Leviathan," she said. Clint's brow furrowed in confusion; what did a mythical sea creature have to do with anything?

"What?"

"They're called leviathans. I, uh, remember that from what the Tesseract told me."

"Right…" Clint trailed off, thinking of all the things the Tesseract had told him. "We're just waiting on Banner and Thor. Everyone else is already in the fight." They all ducked back behind the car as two Chitauri drew energy rifles. The blasts sped over their heads and landed their hits against the building behind them, raining debris atop the trio. Art shoved her pistol back into her holster and removed the assault rifle from her back. She readied it and checked its clip, face stern. Holding it close to her chest, she inhaled slowly and felt the last of the residual fogginess leave her head; she then turned her head either way to make eye contact with both Clint and Natasha.

"I've got a plan," she said, tucking the but of the rifle under her shoulder.

"Give us the low-down, Lieu," Clint said.

"You two are going to peel out from either end of the car and fire from there; I'll fire over the top of the car. They won't know where to attack first. Our main priorities are––" Art was cut off as another energy blast hit the wall and rained down more debris, "––the two with the energy rifles."

Natasha ejected the empty magazine from one of her guns and slammed a fresh one in, giving a nod as she agreed to the plan. Clint ruffled dust and chunks of stone out of his hair and then drew and nocked an arrow. She and Clint shared a look, nodded and leapt out from either side of the car. Art rose to her feet and twisted back around, aiming her sights on the Chitauri with the rifle on her right. A few quick bursts of gunfire took that one out effortlessly. She swung her sites around as the less dangerously armed Chitauri dropped with arrows protruding from their heads or from bullets through the heart; the assault rifle jolted against her shoulder as she squeezed the trigger, letting the volley of bullets strike her target. The Chitauri made a strangled gurgling sound and slumped towards the pavement, the energy rifle dropping from his hands. Art jumped over the top of the car and slung the rifle onto her back as more of the aliens approached in full force. Her legs still shook as she became used to being fully in control of her movements again, but it gave her time to focus on what she could do. The guns were going to do her little to no good in such close-quarters combat. So, recalling all of the lessons Bucky had given her years ago, Art unsheathed her knife and brandished it at the nearest on-coming Chitauri.

Energy rifles essentially looked like staffs with curved, glowing blades at the top of them. While it made the weapon extremely effective in it being both a rifle, a staff, _and_ a stabbing implement, it also gave a number of disadvantages that Ar was perfectly willing to take advantage of. As the Chitauri swung it her way, she grabbed hold of it and, with all her might, turned the momentum around and onto the rifle's wielder. She spun the creature around once or twice, which was enough to cause the Chitauri to loose its grip and fall to the ground. Flipping the rifle around, Art leapt forward and plunged both the top of the energy rifle and the blade of her knife into the Chitauri's chest, effectively killing it. Yanking her knife back out, she lurched back with her feet only to be knocked down with an 'oof!' It would seem that the Chitauri were still coming in full force and were not happy with the carnage the team of humans was causing. The alien that lurked above her aimed the rifle square at her face and made a disgusting sound that must have been its form of a chuckle. Art, quick as a whip, threw her knife and watched it embed itself in the Chitauri's eye.

"You know, it's rude to threaten a lady," Art panted as the alien roared and grabbed for the knife. "Wanna know what's ruder?" She jumped up to her feet and got hold of the knife first, driving it farther back into the creature's skull. "Threatening an entire goddamn planet."

The Chitauri fell to the ground, unsheathing the knife from its skull as it went. Art stepped over the body and made for next target, which her eyes had immediately locked on to. She jogged forward a couple of steps and swung the knife around, driving it into the side of a Chitauri's skull. She could feel the blade push through skin, crack through skull, and embed itself into something squishy. The alien dropped to the cracked pavement and something skittered to a halt at Art's feet. A bow––_Clint's_ bow. Her head whipped around as she drew her gun and shot another Chitauri without looking, killing it with two bullets. Clint was held to a Chitauri's chest, the shaft of an energy rifle barred against the sharpshooter's throat. The muscles in his arms were straining as he pushing against it, wincing as the metal threatened to cut off his air supply. Bending at the waist, Artie sheathed her knife and holstered her gun, taking hold of Clint's bow with both free hands. She grabbed hold of an arrow that had lodged itself into a Chitauri's chest and yanked it out, blue-black blood dripping from it.

Turning to face her struggling friend, Art nocked the arrow and drew back the string until it touched her lip. Her form was probably off and she was––definitely––doing something wrong, but a weapon was a weapon and her friend was in trouble. The arrow wobbled from side to side, up and down; it was so unbelievably different than aiming a gun. Her confidence in the move she'd decided to make plummeted. Her eyes roamed over the struggling two rapid fire, trying to find a suitable place to aim. Clint was silently begging her to just shoot, and Art fixed her sights on her target and let her fingers release the bowstring. With a twang, it propelled the arrow forward, sending it flying through the air and straight into the Chitauri's forehead. Art gaped and let her arms drop just as the alien fell, releasing Clint from its hold. The sharpshooter ripped the arrow from its skull and nodded to Art grateful.

"Nice shooting––I'm impressed you got a headshot with a weapon you never used before. Art simply shook her head, looking shocked and awe-struck.

"I was aiming for its _hand!_" she exclaimed. She hadn't wanted to aim for the head or heart just in case her aim wavered and she hit Clint instead. But, somehow, luck had decided to be on her side and land her the perfect kill shot. Clint's expression sobered from one of relief to one that visibly read as 'are you kidding me?'

"It's _hand?_"

"I didn't want to hit you!"

"You're lucky you didn't!"

"Yeah, well, give me lessons when all of this is over!" Art shot back and tossed the bow his way as the third wave of Chitauri began to clamour over cars and drop from chariots.

Natasha had acquired one of the energy rifles, using it to her advantage as she fought of those that came her way. Clint tripped one of the Chitauri with his bow and then rammed an arrow into its neck, one of the spots exposed by the type of armor it was wearing. Art wielded a gun in her right hand and the knife in her left, using each weapon accordingly. The knife's blade was streaked with Chitauri blood and she was sure that its sheath was coated in it as well, but that was the least of her problems. Clint skid across the ground on his knees with a nocked arrow, spinning around as he came to a stop in order to lose it. Art grabbed hold of an alien's arm and slammed it down against her knee, feeling the joint pop and crack at the force with which it had been hit. Shoving it in Clint's direction as it screeched with pain, he shot it down and nocked another arrow, aiming towards the sky as they readied for their next assault. Just as two more Chitauri came their way, Steve leapt over two cars and knocked them aside with the use of his shield.

"Artie, behind you!" Steve called. Without so much as a second though, Art spun around and swung the knife as she turned. The knife sank into a Chitauri's neck, and then she leveled the gun at the alien's face, turned her head to the side and shot. The creature dropped to the ground and Art nodded to Steve in thanks. They locked gazes and Steve immediately damned the fact they were in the middle of battle. He looked into Art's eyes and saw _her_. Saw emotion and love and light, saw everything that made her _her_, and something swelled inside his chest. He tugged her into his arms and embraced her tightly; Art squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in his shoulder, forgetting about everything that was happening around them. Drawing back, Steve clasped her face between both his hands and kissed her forehead––avoiding the bruise––and then beamed down at her brightly. "It's good to have you back." Art smiled back.

"It's good to be back."

The rest of the approaching aliens were taken out by bolts of crackling lightning, that cut straight through them as though they were made of nothings. Thor descended from the sky, grimacing in pain, leaning up against a flipped car for support.

"What's the story upstairs?" Steve asked as he approached, glancing Art's way as she loaded a new magazine. There was nothing Steve wanted to do more than just _hug_ her. Kiss her. Hold her for an extended period of time where he could just hide his face in the crook of her neck and be grateful that she was back. Unfortunately, though, they were on the brink of a full-out extraterrestrial forces vs. terrestrial forces kind of war, and that didn't leave much room or time for such things. Clint began to go about collecting his arrows, picking off bits of flesh and blood from the arrow heads as he went. Steve fished around in one of the pouches on his belt and handed art an earpiece, which she accepted with a grateful smile and fitted it into her ear as Thor replied.

"The power surrounding the cube is impenetrable," the Asgardian informed grimly.

"_Thor's right, we've gotta deal with these guys,_" Tony said over the intercom, referring to the Chitauri on the chariots and the leviathans.

"How do we do this?" Natasha inquired, watching as at least a dozen more chariots zipped by.

"As a team," Steve said firmly, decidedly.

"I have unfinished business with Loki," Thor told them, staring up at the top of Stark Towers. Clint and Art scoffed darkly, exchanging a look of mutual, simmering anger. If there was anything that they both had a hankering for, it was punching Loki square across the jaw multiple times till his jaw cracked. The bastard deserved everything that was coming his way.

"Yeah? Get in line," Clint replied, screwing the head of an arrow back on. Steve leveled Clint with a stern look and said, in an equally stern tone,

"_Save it_." Though he wouldn't outwardly admit it in words, Steve was in that very same line, right behind Artie. He wanted to hurt the Asgardian for everything that he'd put Art through, but he had to suppress those feelings––for now, at least––and take control of the situation. "Loki's gonna keep this fight focused on us, and that's just what we need. Without him, these things could run wild." Steve backed up so he could see Stark Towers and Grand Central, assessing their situation. He gestured to the sky. "We've got Stark up top. He's gonna need us to––"

The rumbling of an engine distracted the blond soldier as he began to lay out the battle plan. They all looked up to see none other than Bruce Banner, trundling in on a growling motor bike that had seen better days. His hair was disheveled and his clothes were a little worse for wear. Quite honestly, they hadn't been expecting to see him. He wasn't like Thor, who could zip through the skies and find the team on a simple whim. He had to take typical transport. They also figured that he'd want to stay _away_ from such stressful situations, and yet, there he was. The team began to walk over to him as he dismounted the bike, staring around at the flaming ditches in the pavement and the half destroyed buildings.

"So, this all seems horrible," Bruce commented casually.

"I've seen worse," Natasha said with a slight smirk. Bruce looked over Steve's shoulder and met her gaze, offering a small, apologetic smile.

"Sorry."

Natasha smiled fully and then looked around at the mess the city found itself in. "No, we could use a little worse.

"Stark? We've got him," Steve said into the intercom.

"_Banner?_"

"Just like you said."

"_Tell him to suit up. I'm bringing the party to you_."

Everyone looked up as Tony zipped through the sky around the corner of a building; that corner was almost immediately demolished by a leviathan, who roared as it shattered glass and cracked cement. Varying levels of horror and contemplation crossed everyone's face, and they all attempted to figure out how to fight this thing. Art couldn't draw any residual information about these things other than their names, and she glanced down at her gun and knife, mentally categorizing them as utterly useless against the behemoth in the sky.

"I… I don't see how that's a party," Natasha deadpanned with a shake of her head. Tony swooped down, lower to the street, and the leviathan followed suit, sliding across the pavement, roaring from its gaping, disgusting maw. Bruce calmly turned to face the leviathan and began to walk towards it as Steve said,

"Dr. Banner, now might be a really good time for you to get angry."

"That's my secret, Captain," Bruce paused briefly to smirk at the team over his shoulder, "I'm always angry."

As Bruce turned back towards the leviathan, everything about him began to change. He body swelled, his skin turned green, and his clothes stretched and ripped. In a near instant, he was the Hulk, roaring and swinging a massive fist forward, bopping the leviathan straight in the face. The alien creature roared in pain as it suddenly began to flip upwards, pieces of armor breaking off to reveal its soft, fleshy skin beneath, the team below backed up as its body loomed over them, threatening to fall on them all.

"_Hold on!_" Tony told them, hovering in the air as he shot a small rocket from a launcher installed in the wrist of his suit. The rocket hit its mark and embedded itself in the leviathan's body. Steve raised his shield and ducked down, prompting Natasha to duck down with him as he shielded them from fire, metal debris, and disgusting chunks of leviathan flesh. Clint and Art dove for the cover of an overturned car and Thor, relatively unphased, simply shielded his face. Art's nose screwed up as a chunk of sizzling leviathan meat hit the ground a few feet away, giving off one of the most disgusting smells she'd ever had to inhale.

The leviathan's body flopped off the overpass and into the streets below, and above them, the Chitauri howled in anger. Everyone rose from their hunkered down positions and backed into a circle. Art sheathed her knife and holstered her pistol, taking the chance to remove the assault rifle from her back. She stepped up beside Steve and kept her eyes trained on the buildings that loomed above them, where the army of Chitauri hung from broken windows and screeched at them. Steve glanced over at her and she nodded, a silent confirmation that she was ready for orders, and ready to be thrown back into battle. Steve returned the nod and adjusted the fit of his shield. For the first time ever, the Avengers were assembled, and they were ready to protect the earth.

Up above, thousands more Chitauri flooded through the portal. Natasha, being the first to notice, turned to face Stark Towers and nodded up at the sky. "Guys…" They all turned and watched as thousands more adversaries descended upon them. They needed a battle plan. They needed tactics; because there was one thing they were all sure about and it was this––they were out of their element and they needed to be organized.

"Call it, Cap," Tony said.

"Alright, listen up. Until we can close that portal, our priority's containment. Barton, I want you on that roof," Steve pointed and Clint looked up, surveying what was to become his new perch, "eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays. Stark, you've got the perimeter. Anything gets three blocks out, you turn it back or you turn it to ash."

"Wanna give me a lift?" Clint asked Tony. Tony gave a single nod, light glinting off his helmet and walked over to the sharpshooter.

"Right. Clench-up, Legolas," he said, grabbing Clint by the collar. In a roar of fire and energy, Tony and Clint shot up into the sky. Steve turned to the blond Asgardian and continued to distribute orders.

"Thor, you've gotta try and bottleneck that portal. Slow 'em down. You've got the lightning. Light the bastards up," he instructed. Thor, grim faced, nodded and swung Mjölnir around a few times before he, too, shot up into the sky. "Romanoff, Artie, we stay on the ground, keep the fighting here. And Hulk…" Steve turned to face the green being behind him. The Hulk turned to stared down at him with gleaming eyes and a heaving chest. The captain smirked and pointed up at him and gave a single worded order. "_Smash_."

The Hulk grinned and leapt upwards, latching onto a building to start ripping Chitauri off of it with his massive green hands. Art checked the rifle's clip and realized she'd only get a couple more good shots out of it before she'd either have to hazard an attempt to get more ammo or abandon it completely. But, she'd been in worse situations when it came to being armed, so she figured she'd make a snap decision when the moment came. Turning to survey the area, Art blew a breath between her lips and took the safety off her rifle.

"Wish I had some grenades," Art commented to Steve as she swung her gun upwards and shot at the underside of a chariot, which promptly exploded. "We could pull some of the old Commando maneuvers."

"Who said we couldn't?" Steve asked with a smirk. He popped open one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out a device about the size of a quarter; it was thicker than said coin and had a button on the front. "It isn't a grenade, but I've been told that it'll explode." Art cast her rifle aside, having felt the clip empty itself completely and took the device from Steve's hand. She arched an eyebrow and nodded up to the sky.

"Just like the ammunition trucks?" she asked. Steve's smirk widened and he dropped to a knee, interlacing his fingers to create a step.

"Just like the ammunition trucks."

Art placed both hands onto Steve's shoulders and put her foot in the cradle he'd made with his hands. Just as a Chitauri chariot zoomed towards them, Steve tossed Art into the air and she pressed the button in the middle of the device. Just as the chariot sped over head, Art tossed the small explosive into said mode of transportation, and began to fall back to earth. She was caught in Steve's arms just as the chariot exploded in mid-air.

"Well… maybe not _just_ like the ammunition trucks, but it's pretty damn close," she commented as Steve put her back on her feet.

"_We've got a little girl trapped in an alley off Forty-Sixth Street,_" Clint informed over the earpieces. A scared thrill ran through Art's body at Clint's information and, in her head, she saw flashes of little Kenny her mind. She'd gone off to war so he wouldn't have had to see this sort of thing outside his window every day; and to know that there was a little girl trapped in the middle of all this made her heart thrum with fear and anger. Art immediately started to run towards Forty-Sixth Street, going as fast as her feet could conceivably carry her.

"I've got it, Clint."

Art ran all the way to Forty-Sixth, dodging Chitauri––and clotheslining a few of them––and keeping an eye out for a blocked-up alley. Slowing to a stop in the middle of the abandoned street, Art flinched as her side stung. She placed a hand against the arrow wound and pulled her hand away to find blood, which could only mean that it had reopened. Whatever advantages she had in healing were definitely not fully in play. The wound was healing slowly anyway, but the vigorous moving she'd been doing certainly wasn't helping it. As she put pressure against the gouge and surveyed the street, the gas tank of a nearby car exploded, and that explosion evoked a scream from someone not too far away. Art's head perked up and she finally spotted the alley Clint must have been talking about. A car had been blown off the road and lodged itself in the narrow opening of the alley. The car had also smashed into the building and appeared to be one of the only things supporting the crumbling wall. With panic rising in her chest, Art sped over and looked for an opening into the alley. There was a narrow triangle between one of the open car doors and the ground, so she dropped down onto her stomach and peered through.

"Hello?" she called. She stayed quiet and listened to the popping gunfire in the background, waiting for a sign someone was on the otherside. And then, a small pair of shoes cautiously and tentatively appeared in Art's line of vision. "Hey! Hey, I'm on the other side of the car." The shoes stumbled back a step. "No, no, no, it's okay. It's okay, I promise." Art pulled off one of her gloves and stretched her arm through the space under the car. "See? I'm not one of them. I'm here to help you." There was a pause and, slowly, the little girl sank to her hands and knees and tentatively lowered her head. When Art saw her scared brown eyes, she smiled brightly. She was about eight or nine and there was a thin cut marring the olive toned skin of her cheek. "Hi. My name's Artie; what's yours?"

"R-Rachel…" the little girl stuttered. Art's smile grew and she kept the expression of her face soft.

"That's a lovely name, Rachel. I'm going to help you get out, okay? I'm going to need you to crawl through this space." Rachel's brows scrunched together and hesitance became plain on her face. Despite the fact that Art had made it known she was there to help, the young girl still seemed apprehensive. Art didn't look like a police officer or any of the emergency rescue teams, and they were in the middle of a crisis situation. So Art decided to pull a card she'd yet to pull, and did it with a soft smile present on her lips. "Have you heard of Lieutenant Liberty, Rachel?" The girl nodded slowly and Art smiled again, a gentle, soft look. "Well, that's me. And I _promise_ I'm gonna get you out of here safe and sound, alright?"

Rachel stared at Art for a wide-eyed moment before she began to crawl forward, pressing herself close to the ground as she moved. When she was half-way through the space beneath the car, Art reached out and helped pull her the rest of the way, relieved to see that Rachel was wearing jeans that protected her legs. Smiling, Art helped her stand and rose to her own knees, reaching up to swipe a smudge of blood off her cheek.

"There we go, sweetie. You're out of there, now. Are your parents anywhere nearby?"

"They… we were… were going to Rock––Rocker… Rocker…" she stuttered, still looking frightened.

"Rockefeller Plaza?" Art supplied helpfully. Rachel nodded and fisted her hands in the bottom of her shirt nervously. "Alright. I'm going to get you there, okay?" She turned around, still on her knees, and gestured to her back. "I want you to climb on my back… yeah, that's it, just like a piggy-back ride. Now, hold on nice and tight." Rachel's arms wound themselves tightly around Art's neck and her legs looped themselves around her waist. Art pulled her glove back on as she stood and turned her head to look at the child who clung to her for dear life. "Rachel, I might have to do some scary things, like shoot a gun or use a knife; but if you get scared, just close your eyes. Everything will be okay when you open them." Rachel dropped her head into Art's shoulder with eyes clenched shut, and with that done, she took off down the street.

_**Afterword:**_ _**Initially, this chapter was going to be longer but it just seemed fitting to end there. I had a lot of fun with the first half of this chapter and am not so sure about the second half, but, you know, I still think that––overall––it's pretty good. I hope you all enjoyed reading it!**_

_**Review replies!**_

**grapejuice101:** _Loki's got a whole LINE of people that are ready to hand him his ass. And they will. They most certainly will. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _I'm glad that you've enjoyed the last few chapters! Thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I really enjoyed focusing in on Steve and Art last chapter, it was so much fun to write. And I'm glad to hear that the scene where Steve looked her in the eye and told her to kill him sent chills up your spine––that was my ultimate goal. And I'm super happy the fight seemed realistic; I went into director mode in my head and tried to figure out how it would've worked on screen and what not. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _I struggled with how to do last chapter but, once I figured out what need to happen, it got easier; and Artie really is going to have a lot of trouble when she comes back. She and Clint will definitely have a conversation or two about what they went through, and Art's definitely going to be having a tough time with that as well. First Schmidt, now Loki. And I have been toying with the idea of having Art meet Clint's family and what not… and I've made a decision ;) And Artie would be great with kids, as demonstrated here and with her interactions with young Kenny. And __**oh,**_ _the ideas for Winter Soldier… __**so**_ _excited! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _I'm glad you loved last chapter! I had so much fun writing it; I hope you enjoyed reading the new installment! Thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _My goal for last chapter was to make the feels real. There had to be that many feels in this story at some point and that seemed like the perfect moment to have it all go down. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**Rubyia:** _Loki's gonna get a couple new bruises when Artie sees him again, ahaha! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _Oh, thank god the end of the last chapter came out well. It was a last-minute decision to add it in. 'Cause I figured that if your brain was repairing itself after being, essentially, torn apart and put back together, your consciousness would retreat somewhere you feel safe and comfortable, and for Artie, that happens to be with Steve. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _I'm glad that last chapter turned out well and that you enjoyed it! Thanks again!  
_**Nik1804:** _Winter Soldier is going to be so filled with feels I won't even know what to do with myself, uhg. But it's gonna be __**so**_ _fun and so amazing I just can't wait to start writing it. My goal for TWS is to handle the darker scenes with care and portray them the way they were done in the movie––with care and emotion. And then add in my own bit of darkness ;) And I love replying to your reviews, they always make me smile! There's gonna be even more shield symbolism coming up, especially in TWS, and I'm excited for it; still trying to figure out what Art's symbol/signature is and still can't think of one… But, I, again, thank __**you**_ _for the hundredth time for sticking with this story for so long and continuing to enjoy it through the twists and turns I throw you all through. Again, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!_

**darck ben:** _It will certainly be interesting for Artie to re-discover Bucky Boy in Winter Soldier… the feels will be strong. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Guest:** _Thank you! I'm so glad you've been enjoying the story; thanks again!_

**Jo:** _Yeah, the therapy will be interesting––it'll probably be SHIELD regulated and she'll hate it… and her best form of 'therapy' will probably bitching with Clint and talking with Steve and going on impossibly cute dates with her blond captain :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**Savi:** _Hello! :) I'm happy that the last chapter evoked an emotional response, I was totally aiming for that with all of the feelsy moments last time! I'm utterly flattered that you think I'm a good writer! I'm so glad you're excited to see what's going to happen next; thanks again, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

**NothingNooneZero:** _And __**I**_ _can only say 'thank __**you**__!' I continue to share my story because people like you are so supportive and lovely and enjoy it so much. So, thank you, again, for being lovely and taking the time to read! Thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those who added this story to favorites/follows; it means a lot!**_

_**Well, next chapter we see how Artie and Rachel make it to Rockefeller, and we get even more of the battle; if I make it an extra long chapter, I could probably finish the battle. But we'll have to see. I've got such plans for post-Avengers. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Thank you all, once again, for taking the time to read. It means so, so, **__**so**_ _**much that you all have been enjoying the story this much! Thanks again, everyone! You all rock!  
~Mary**_


	18. Save the World

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

18\. Save the World

While Art ran the path towards Rockefeller, Rachel clung to her neck with all her might. Chitauri darted about overhead, gunfire popped over head, and the Hulk's roar echoed between buildings. Chunks of buildings littered the street and fires blazed wherever they pleased. It was, truly, all out war; and Art was glad that Rachel had hidden her face in the crook of her neck. There were things that children her age shouldn't have to see, and New York as a war zone was definitely one of those things. Art skid to a stop as a Chitauri dropped off the side of a nearby building and cut off her path. It removed the front of its helmet to reveal its grotesque face, hissing at her angrily. She drew her pistol reflexively and shot, muttering something to the effect of 'big mistake.' Rachel's arms tightened around her neck and Art apologized as the Chitauri dropped to the ground. Art proceeded to step over the alien's body and continue down the street, stepping around flipped cars and chunks of cement.

Turning onto Forty-Ninth Street, Art let out a yelp of surprise as three Chitauri lumbered forward, baring weapons. She stumbled backwards a couple of steps, nearly tripping over a torn-off car door.

"Rachel, sweetheart, keep your eyes shut… and hold on tight," Art said quietly. The girl complied by tightening her hold again and pressing her face into her saviour's shoulder a bit farther.

Art raised her gun and aimed at the nearest alien, trying to find a chink or gap in its armor. The neck seemed to be the best option; she wanted to keep the Chitauri as far away from Rachel as possible, so that brought the only weapon option to her gun, the ammo of which was being slowly depleted. She fired once and got the first Chitauri in the neck, ducked as one with an energy rifle shot at her and stayed down on one knee as she aimed and fired at the thing's hands. Once the energy rifle was dropped, Art lunged forward and utilized the new weapon. Heard the rifle whir for a moment before a jet of blue energy shot itself at the previous wielder, promptly knocking it off its feet and into a half-charred car. Facing the last Chitauri, who was lumbering towards her, Art rose to her feet and tossed the rifle like a javelin. The sharpened blade of the energy rifle cut through the Chitauri's breastplate and ended its life. Blue-black blood trickled from the slice in the breastplate, and Art let out a breath she'd been holding since the three had appeared.

"We're almost there. Here, let's shift this a bit…" Art shifted Rachel so she was hugging her front, leaving her less vulnerable. She started to run again, keeping one arm wound around Rachel's back and placed a hand against the back of her head, to hold it to her shoulder. Rockefeller Plaza was covered in debris. The golden statue at the skating rink was scuffed up and charred in different spots and the rink itself was cracked in multiple places. Art got them both inside the Rockefeller Center and made for the underground concourse, where there was a babble of frightened voices. "Do you know your parent's names?"

"Aaron. And… and… Francis."

"Last name?"

"Harris."

Art waded through the crowd of concerned citizens, calling out Rachel's parents' names. People quieted down as Art passed, staring at her in awe and shock. She vaguely realized people had begun to whisper and say 'that's Lieutenant Liberty!' But she was so focused on finding Rachel's parents that she hadn't exactly paid attention.

"Aaron and Francis Harris?" she called out again as people cleared her a path. Phones were taken out and pictures were snapped, videos were taken, and, somewhere in the distance, someone cried 'that's us!' Art turned to her left and saw two men––one red haired and one blond––shouldering their way through the crowd with concern plain on their faces. One of them––spotting the woman in red-white-and-blue, spotting the little girl in her arms––exclaimed,

"Rachel!"

Rachel's head whipped around and scanned the crowd. As the red haired man appeared in her line of vision, her face lit up. "Daddy!" The man finally cleared the crowd and stepped into the circle of space people had created around Art, taking his daughter from her arms. He hugged her tight and the second, blond man appeared on his other side and wound the other two in an embrace of his own. People around them applauded at the reunion, their fear waning for a brief moment. The blond man looked to Art with tears in his eyes as he stroked his daughter's hair.

"Thank you…" he said in a hushed tone. Art smiled at him gently.

"Of course. I'm happy to have brought her back," she told him. She smiled at Rachel and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You were very brave, Rachel." The little girl smiled before turning her face into one of her fathers' shoulders. As the family continued their reunion and checked their daughter over for injuries, Art smiled and tucked hair behind her ears.

"Hey, you're Lieutenant Liberty, aren't you?" asked a teenager, who snapped a picture with his phone as she turned towards him. She assessed the looks on the faces of those around her and then nodded, standing taller, keeping her chin up.

"Yes. I am."

People began to chatter again, surprised and enthralled at her confirmation. More pictures were snapped, and Art swallowed thickly as the attention of the room was turned totally on her. She held her confident stance, trying to imagine she was just standing in front of a troop of men, not a group of civilians who regarded her as a superhero. Somewhere, something exploded and caused the building to shake, sending a wave of panic through those hiding the concourse. Their fascination with the hero in the middle of the room disappeared and shouts of fear paired with a slight scramble to hunker down or hide replaced it. Art scanned the crowd, found the nearest table and jumped atop it so she was elevated and in everyone's line of sight.

"Everyone! Keep calm!" she called out, spreading out her arms. "If you keep calm, we can get through this!" Her tone was commanding, but not harsh. It was the tone she used with her men back in the day, the one that got them to listen when they were being too rowdy or hadn't been listening in the first place. People began to quiet down and turn their attention towards the figure in red-white-and-blue; Art slowly began to turn in a circle, nodding as the noise began to die. "There we go. Now, what we're going to do is stay put and stay together. Do _not_ go upstairs, do _not_ go near any doors that exit to the outside. You'll be safer down here."

"Safer?" someone called in disbelief.

"Yes, safer, because no one is truly _safe_ in a war, are they?"

"Are we at war?" called someone else.

"Not if the Avengers can help it."

_Crash!_

Art spun around to see that a Chitauri had leapt through one of the glass doors that exited to the cafe on one of the ice-rink's corners. Keeping her eyes trained on her target, Art stepped off the table and held out her arms to gesture everyone back. They complied with a surprising amount of calm, watching as the alien stalked towards Lieutenant Liberty. Art's hand twitched towards her gun, but this Chitauri, unlike its other kin, reacted first. It sprinted forward, grabbed Art and tossed her towards the windows. She felt herself crash through the glass before she heard it. The next thing she felt was cold. She'd been thrown hard and far enough to make her final landing location the ice rink. With glass in her hair and a throbbing heart, Art drew herself to her feet, sliding a bit on the ice she found herself standing on. But she was used to ice; she'd done one too many missions in the Alps and the slopes there had been _far_ more dangerous than the Rockefeller Plaza ice rink.

The Chitauri soldier that had thrown her climbed through the smashed window and leapt over the rink barrier, sliding slightly on the slickery surface. Slipping a bit as she rose to full height, Art drew her gun and pulled the trigger twice; one of the bullets embedded itself in the alien's arm and the other managed to get deflected by what little armor it was wearing. As the Chitauri skidded towards her, arms out stretched, Art slid a step back, pulling her trigger again and––_click. Click_. The magazine had officially emptied itself. Art only had a brief moment to swear before she was knocked off her feet again. The Chitauri had tackled her to the ice and sent the air whooshing from her lungs and the useless gun skittering from her hand. The cold of the ice seeped through her suit and nipped at her back unpleasantly. The alien above her drew its arm back and made to punch her face with all its might, only to have its fist meet ice as Art craned her head the other way. Slipping one arm under the small of her back, Art whipped her knife out and, with the other hand, ripped the front plate of the helmet off; she swung the knife forward and into the alien's forehead, flinching and turning her own head to the side as the blade crunched through skull. Blood dripped onto her face, hot and viscous, and the full weight of the armored Chitauri rested atop her.

Art shoved the alien's body off her person, rolled it to the side and extracted her knife. As she began to sit up, however, she noticed that its comrades had begun to swarm the ice rink. They were––literally––spitting mad about the death of their comrade and were intent on revenge. There were at least ten of them, all clamouring down the walls and leaping into the rink. Art sighed.

"Shit…"

Her gun was utterly useless and, in this case, so was her knife. They were all going to come at her at once and the knife was going to do jack shit. But she had to try something. As the first Chitauri soldier slipped and slid towards her, Art grabbed hold of the knife blade, picked her targeted point, and threw it. The blade stuck itself in the middle of its chest, causing it to crumple to the ground but continue to slide. As it drifted past her, Art took her knife back and sighed as two more aliens came at her. She was being rushed, and her mind was kicking into offensive mode. Finding herself backed up against the edge of the rink, she took advantage of her position. She propelled herself forward with one good push and then leapt upwards. She wrapped both her legs around the neck of one Chitauri, grabbed its head and gave a mighty yank to the side; as it collapsed, dead, Art used that momentum to swing her knife down through the top of the un-helmeted Chitauri's head. Another alien soldier snuck up behind her and looped an arm around her neck, hauling her backwards. She made a choking sound and watched as three more Chitauri stepped up in front of her and each lifted some different sort of weapon. A firing squad. She was in front of a god damn alien firing squad.

"_Looks like a party down there, Artie-Tartie,_" Art heard Tony's voice in her ear.

"Yeah… not really…" she choked, feet slipping against the ice as she tried to pull away. "I… I would… wouldn't mind some… help, please…"

"_Sure thing. Hang tight._"

Art grunted and yanked the Chitauri's arm away from her neck and then swung the alien around in front of her in the form of a body shield. As the three other Chitauri fired her way, their projectiles were absorbed by their comrade's form, effectively killing it. Just as they hissed and lumbered towards her, sliding on the ice in hardly coordinated moves, Tony swept in from above, knocking them all down with blasts from his repulsors. Art wiped drops of Chitauri blood off her face as the aliens skid across the ice and then nodded to Tony.

"Thanks for that."

"My pleasure," Tony told her, hovering just a few inches above the ice.

"Mind helping me with the rest of them?" Art asked, gesturing to the remaining four or so aliens.

"There's nothing I'd rather do more. Want a boost?"

"How kind of you to ask––I'd love one."

Tony placed one hand on the middle of her back and propelled them both forward, giving Art a solid push forward. She wobbled on her feet for a moment as her speed picked up, but she retained her footing and continued to slide towards their adversaries. The gathered momentum that Art had gained from Tony's assistance was enough for Art to tackle one of the Chitauri to the ground. Something in her head clicked and she was back into battle mode, thinking of what she could do in the absence of a weapon. The first thing she went for was the helmet; it would make it easier to do clock the alien without it on. She wrestled with the alien for a moment but eventually yanked the helmet off and grabbed either side of its head. One of its hands grabbed for her neck but instead found its grip on her jaw, pushing her head upwards and away in hopes of pushing her off and away. Art, feeling her neck begin to strain in the most painfully uncomfortable way, tightened her hold on the Chitauri's head and yanked it to the side sharply, wincing as she heard and felt a crack.

Tony had swooped down and grabbed a Chitauri by the arm and hurled it towards the lithe golden statue that stretched itself along one side of the rink. The alien's midsection cracked against one of the legs, where it draped itself limply. Art rolled to the right and towards the body of the Chitauri that had her knife protruding from its forehead. She grabbed hold of the handle and tore it out, taking note of the rest of their attackers. Tony was battling two of the four left, and the other two were climbing the statue for an aerial attack. Sheathing her knife, Art ran a few steps, nearly fell flat on her face, and slid the rest of the way to the rink edge. She jumped over the rink edge and let her feet splash into the fountain surrounding the famous statue. She One of the Chitauri hissed and leapt downwards, limbs outstretched as it made to tackle her to the ground. She dodged to the side in a spray of water, stepping on something solid that clunked against the bottom of the fountain. It was a metal flagpole that had fallen from the wall of flags that loomed over them. It had snapped off, leaving a jagged edged pole that continue to hold the sopping wet rectangle of fabric.

Saying a silent thank you to whatever had knocked the flag down, Art picked up the flag pole and brandished the dripping wet American flag at the advancing Chitauri. It raised a more gun-like form of energy rifle, the barrel blazing with bright blue light; as the projectile was fired, Art dove to the side, somersaulting through the water, effectively dampening her suit and hair. Water dripped down her face as she rose to a crouch, still baring the metal flagpole. A splash sounded behind her and, taking a glance over her shoulder, she saw that the second Chitauri had jumped down behind her for a surprise assault. Art spun around and thwacked the alien with the flag end of the pole; the metal twanged against its helmet and the heavy fabric slapped against the Chitauri's face like an added insult. Its comrade lunged for Art and she side-stepped the charge and let the two aliens collide. With the two creatures from outer space lying prone in the ankle-deep water, Art spun the flagpole around and, with a shout fueled by adrenaline, drove the flagpole downwards. Her so-called 'super-strength' aided with driving the rod of metal through the layers of armor, flesh, bone, and muscle, impaling both Chitauri.

Art had fallen to her knees, with muscles trembling and hands still grasping the flag pole. Strands of damp hair hung around her face, which was streaked with droplets of water. She heard a slight hiss and pop that she associated with fire and looked up to see Tony hovering just beside her. He pointed a shining finger at the flag and the woman who held it. The image could have been statue inspiring.

"That has to be one of the most American things I've ever seen. Lieutenant Liberty killing two of her enemies with an American flag. Nice goin'," Tony complimented as she rose to her feet. She rolled her eyes with a tiny smirk.

"Shut up. Mind giving me a lift back to Steve?" she asked.

"Not at all. Does, uh, Annie wanna go get her gun?" He nodded towards aforementioned weapon, which lay discarded on the ice. He interpreted her lack of answer for not understanding the reference he'd just made so he went on to explain. "You know, Annie being––"

"Annie Oakley, yeah, I got it. She was before my time. And, no, I don't need it; there's no ammo left."

"Lieutenant!" Art looked towards the shattered window she'd been thrown through by the Chitauri and spotted a man proffering a gun. Art hopped down from the fountain and, leaving behind wet footprints, walked to the window. The man was dressed nicely and a badge was slipped into the waistband of his pants––he was an off-duty NYPD detective. Art reached out and placed her gun on top of the gun so it was sandwiched between both of their hands. She fixed him with a serious look.

"Are you sure?" she asked. The detective nodded somberly and turned their hands so he was placing the gun into her palm.

"Yeah. I'll handle the situation down here, you get back out there and keep the rest of the city safe," he told her. Art nodded and holstered the gun, watching as the detective went about ushering everyone further into the concourse and away from any windows or exterior doors. Tony grabbed her by the back of her collar and, after a warning, took off into the sky, bringing them both back towards Grand Central.

Steve was busy fighting off Chitauri soldiers alone on the street when, suddenly, a from in blue shot down from the sky and tackled one of the aliens to the ground. Art used the Chitauri as a landing pad, the force of her body knocking it to and dragging it across the ground enough to knock it out cold. She rose to her feet with a slight wobble and turned towards Steve, firing off one round into the passed out Chitauri's chest. He met her gaze and elbowed an approaching alien in the face while doing so.

"Want some help?" she asked casually.

"Wouldn't mind it," he replied, equally as casual. Art immediately turned her sights on an alien soldier just over Steve's shoulder, the bullet piercing its armor. Steve was covered in soot and grime and streaks of Chitauri blood and his cowl was missing; but he noted her hair seemed damp and her suit was a shade darker. "Did you take a shower?" Art pressed her back to his as he turned around, taking note of how many soldiers were headed their way.

"Only if you count a fight in a fountain as a shower."

"Huh. Sounds like…" Steve tossed the shield and knocked a Chitauri flat out, "fun."

Art reached back and slipped her arms through his, locking the crooks of her elbows in his. Leaning her weight onto his back, Artie tucked her knees up to her chest and then kicked them forward, knocking back a Chitauri that had rushed her. "We'll have to do it together sometime; it's quite the experience."

"_Oh, for god's sake, stop flirting and start fighting,_" Tony sighed while he zipped away. Art extracted her arms from Steve's and leveled the sights of her gun on the nearest alien and instead found it close enough for hand-to-hand combat. Conserving bullets was mightily important at that stage of the fight.

Art flipped her gun around so she was gripping the barrel and then whipped it through the air and struck the alien square across the head. It screeched and narrowed its beady eyes at her; in retaliation, the Chitauri swung its fist towards her and landed the hit, straight in the gut. The woman stumbled back with a grunt, doubling over from the force of the punch. The alien then proceeded to pick her up and hurl her towards Steve, who had successfully been dealing damage for the last ten minutes. Art's body collided with Steve and they both crashed into the charred husk of a taxi. Both groaned and lay there for a minute, the two figures in red-white-and-blue momentarily resigned as their bodies protested moving after that kind of impact. But as the Chitauri soldiers advanced, the two pushed themselves back to their feet.

"Alright then…" Art grumbled, grabbing the door of the taxi, which had half come off its hinges. With a mighty yank, she ripped it off and swung it around like some sort of oversized discus. The square of metal flew from her hands and crashed straight into the Chitauri that had tossed her. As the door and alien hit the pavement, Art cracked her knuckles and picked up her gun, ready to be thrown back into the fray.

Art charged one of the Chitauri with an energy rifle and employed a series of moves Bucky had taught her long ago. As it swung the rifle her way, she ducked and punched the alien in the side. As she rose, she grabbed it by the back of the neck and then brought its face down to her knee, disorientating it with one blow. She then proceeded to repeat the move with the arm that had been gripping the rifle, which clattered to the pavement.

"Artie, spin it around!" Steve called out. Art grabbed the alien's arm and spun it towards Steve, who hurled the shield and knocked it straight in the head. With a chittering sound, the Chitauri fell to the ground, permanently stilled by a bullet from Art's gun.

Steve immediately became caught up in fighting another two Chitauri, shieldless but not helpless. Instead, Art found herself in possession of the shield, slipping it onto her forearm as the sights of an energy rifle became leveled on her. She ducked into a crouch, curling in on herself as much as she could to hide the whole of her person behind the shield. She felt and heard the blast of energy bounce off the vibranium shield and heard the screech of the Chitauri as its own projectile bounced back and killed it. Hearing rubble shift behind her, Art took a chance and spun around as she stood, knocking the shield into the Chitauri that had meant to stab her from behind. Removing the shield from her forearm, Art sprinted towards Steve, who had fallen to the pavement. Whilst running, Art tossed the shield and hit the alien that loomed above him. The circle of vibranium fell to the ground at Steve's feet, and he watched as Art leapt into the air and kicked the Chitauri square in the jaw.

Art twisted around in the air and landed steadily on her feet. Reaching down, she pulled Steve to his feet and he grabbed his shield on the way up. Before he could thank her, before either of them could say anything, Thor plummeted straight out of the sky and landed a couple feet off. The concrete cracked beneath him and he recovered with miraculous ease, spinning around to knock down two or so Chitauri with the Mjölnir. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded to them, a gesture that the other two returned. It was a silent agreement and understanding. He was going to fight with them now; he'd done all he could in the skies for now.

The three then commenced fighting. They stayed together in a rough triangle formation, keeping their backs to one another in order to fight off those that came for them. Thor and Steve would throw and then catch their respective weapons and Art would shoot them when they were down. However, she again ran out of ammo, as was to be expected, and resorted to her knife and fists. Art dodged a Chitauri who swung for her with its rifle and sliced its exposed calf with the sharp edge of her knife. Steve, who'd just re-caught his shield, then spun around and knocked it down. Five or six Chitauri soldiers were approaching on her left, and as she turned to face them, one of the energy blasts caught her in the left side. With a shout of pain, Art was thrown onto her back amongst the rubble. She hissed through her teeth and grabbed at her already wounded side, which had begun to bleed again. The beam of energy had hit her straight where the arrow had previously been lodged, reopening and worsening the wound. It stung something awful and the shock of pain had made her head spin. As Art rolled onto her side, hand clenched over the wound, she saw Steve get socked straight in the stomach with an energy projectile as well. With an audible _oof_, Steve was sent straight to his hands and knees, one arm wrapped around his middle. Thor proved to be their savior. He deflected the energy projectiles with Mjölnir before he swung the hammer around and into a silver car, that flipped a couple of times and crushed their attackers. He then turned in the other direction and tossed the mythical hammer, letting it deal what damage it would.

The Asgardian extended a hand to Steve, who gratefully accepted without hesitation and rose to his feet. They could hear Mjölnir striking Chitauri in the distance, who screeched and cried out as they were hit. Thor then turned to Artemesia, and did more than just offer his hand. He sank into a crouch and took her left arm and placed it around his middle; then, wrapping his own arm around her shoulders, he slowly helped her stand. She thanked him in a pained voice and then rose to her full height, wincing as she drew her hand away from her side. Now a burn accompanied the arrowhead gouge, and her hand was slick with her own blood again. Looking over at Steve, she found that a hole had been singed into his own uniform, and his own skin had been singed and burnt.

"Ready for another bout?" the Asgardian asked them both. Steve, who had a hand placed just beneath his newly earned injury, looked at the new throng of aliens that were headed their way.

"What, you getting sleepy?" Steve panted in a joking tone.

"I think I could do a spot more of fighting," Art said, keeping her hand placed against her wound. Thor smirked and held out his hand, Mjölnir returning to his grasp. Steve looked to Art, worry plain in his eyes. He knew she knew her limits, but sometimes she pushed them a bit too hard. Art met his gaze with a tired but determined look and dropped her hand away from her bloodied side, revealing that it no longer bled as profusely as it had been moments before. "I'll be fine."

"You better be. I can't have my best gal dying on me, do you copy?" His tone had an underlying sense of humor, but his face and voice were overall serious. Art nodded, a faint smile appearing on her lips.

"I copy, Captain."

"_I can close it!_" Natasha's voice exclaimed over their earpieces. "_Can anybody hear me? I can shut the portal down!_"

"Do it!" Steve responded, looking up towards the top of Stark Tower and the gaping portal above it.

"_No, wait!_" Tony cut in.

"Stark, these things keep coming in droves," Art said in a tired voice.

"_I got a nuke coming in, it's gonna blow in less than a minute._" A look of horror overcame Art's face, a look she shared with Steve. "_And I know just where to put it._"

"The portal…" Art murmured, looking up at the gaping maw of space that was still unleashing battalion after battalion of Chitauri.

"Stark… you know that's a one way trip…" Steve told the inventor somberly. Tony didn't respond, and they all took his silence as either a confirmation or defiance.

Moments later, they heard what sounded like a plane jet. Throwing their heads backwards, they watched as Tony, gripping onto the nuke, sped towards Stark Towers, altered the trajectory and zipped towards the portal. He flew along the length of the Tesseract blue jet of energy that kept the portal open; and then, they watched as he disappeared through that portal, saving the city. Art felt a mixture of relief and sadness. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she stared at the last spot she'd seen Tony Stark. Around them, Chitauri and leviathans began to drop, utterly dead and incapable of hurting anyone else. Through the portal that reminded Art of what Schmidt had been absorbed into, they saw the fiery clouds of an explosion begin to creep towards the opening, threatening to spill out into the city. Thor and Steve shared a look.

"Close it…" Steve commanded in a somber tone. A few seconds passed before the jet of light severed itself from the top of Stark Towers and rushed towards the portal, which rippled and began to sew itself shut again. Just as the sky went back to normal, as the tear in the universe was stitched back together, they spotted a figure plummeting towards the ground. A red and gold figure that glinted in the afternoon sun. A smile managed to creep its way onto Steve's lips as he tilted his head back. "Son of a gun."

Art laughed and covered her mouth happily with her unbloodied hand. But that hand and smile slowly began to drop when she––and everyone else––realized that Tony was not in control. He didn't even look to be moving, he was simply… _falling_. And he was speeding up with every passing second that he got closer to the ground.

"He's not slowing down," Thor observed, spinning Mjölnir around, prepared to zip into the sky and stop the metal man from dying. But one of the other Avengers already had it figured out. The Hulk leapt through the air and grabbed Tony with one massive arm. The green monster grabbed onto the side of an office building and slid down, pushing off at the last second to land in the middle of the overpass. Once they were on the ground, the Hulk––gracelessly––tossed Tony to the side. All the while, Thor, Steve, and Art bounded towards them. Steve dropped his shield and Art forgot for a moment that she shouldn't be running with the wound in her side. Thor arrived first and pushed Tony onto his back. He then proceeded to rip the gold plate on the front of his mask off and cast it aside, rising to let Steve take a kneeling position at Stark's side.

Steve put his ear near Tony's mouth and listened as closely as possible for any signs of life. Tension filled the air as Steve sat back and placed a disbelieving hand on Tony's chest, where the Arc Reactor no longer glowed. No muscle in Tony's face moved. No breath passed between his lips. Steve sat back on a heel and raised a knee, sinking in on himself as they all came to the same conclusion. Tony was dead. Art's eyes fell shut as a stinging sensation burned at her nose and the backs of her eyes, threatening tears. The Hulk, enraged, let out an ear-splitting roar that startled the billionaire awake, yelling as his eyes shot open. Art hazzard a relieved laugh as the Arc Reactor light flickered back on and the Hulk roared a second time, pounding his chest with a hand. Steve smiled down at the suddenly bewildered looking inventor, who was staring at the sky in awe.

"_What_ the _hell…_" he muttered. "What just happened?" He looked from Thor, whose lips had begun to twitch upward, to Steve, and to Art, who stood above her blond captain. "Please tell me nobody kissed me."

Steve slumped backwards more and panted out a few more breaths, staring at the broken buildings and smoking streets that surrounded them. Everything had gone quiet. No gunfire. No screaming. Against all odds… "We won." Art fell to her knees behind Steve and wound her arms around his midsection, dropping her head into the crook of his neck. He melted backwards and placed both his hands atop hers, smiling gently. Art, who still felt close to tears for completely different reasons now, turned her head and pressed a soft kiss to the exposed, soot-covered skin of his neck.

"Alright. Heyyy… Alright, good job, guys…" Tony said, forcing a joking amount of breathless enthusiasm into his voice. He moved his arm a bit and let it clank back down against the concrete. "Let's just not come in tomorrow. Let's just… take a day." His voice strained as he attempted to sit up and found he was unable to. So as he continued to lay there on the ground, he pointed up at the Hulk. "Have you ever tried shawarma?" Art propped her chin up on Steve's shoulder and beamed down at Tony, glad to see his sarcastic, joking side was still intact after everything that had just happened. She felt Steve chuckle and turned her face to happily see that he was grinning. "There's a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don't know what it is, but I wanna try it."

"We're not finished yet," Thor said, turning their attention to the top of Stark Tower, where they could only assume Loki was still located.

"And then shawarma after."

Thor worked on helping Tony up and Steve offered Art help, concerned that too much egregious movement would worsen her wound. Once she was standing, Steve reached upwards and brushed hair away from her face, eyeing the thin bruise that cut across the side of her forehead. His gloved fingers lightly skimmed along it, carefully not to press too hard, and he pursed his lips in remembrance.

"Sorry about that," he told her.

"No harm done, I promise," she replied with a gentle smile. She then placed her hand under the cut on his right arm, one that had been dealt by her own knife blade. "Besides… we're even."

Steve smiled down at her and, as his gaze shifted from the bruise to her eyes, he felt unbelievably lucky to have her back. Seeing her mindlessly obey the orders of a cruel man like Loki had made him feel sick. There had been pain and anger and fighting in order to get her back, but it had worked; and he felt like he was the luckiest man alive to have gotten her back. Without warning or prelude, Steve ducked his head and kissed Art with an amount of fervor and abandon that he'd never kissed her with before. Art stood surprised for a moment before immediately bouncing onto her toes and winding her arms around Steve's neck. She kept her bloodied hand placed on his shoulder while the other slipped along the nape of his neck and into his rumpled blond hair. Steve had curled one arm around Art's waist to hold her close, careful to avoid pressing her wound. Art reveled in the feeling of Steve's lips moving against hers in a heated and passionate way they had yet to explore. But it was by no means loveless or rushed. It was reverent. A reminder of what they'd almost lost, but retained hold of and had no intention of letting go again.

"Oh, _god_, am I watching two ninety-somethings make-out?" they heard Tony groan. "_Yich, _I am. I'm gonna have to bleach my eyeballs later, somebody remind me to do that. Alright, _lovebirds_, save the passion for punching Reindeer Games in the face."

Tony's comment about Loki effectively broke the moment in a jokingly serious way. Art sank back down to stand flat-footed, which was how the kiss broke. Steve slipped his hand into hers and, with a confident smile, he turned them towards Stark Towers.

OOOO

Loki groaned as he pulled himself out of the hole in the penthouse floor the Hulk had so _kindly_ bashed him into. His face was decorated with cuts and minor bruising and his body ached something terrible; it wouldn't have been a surprise if a bone or two had broken or if a couple joints had been dislocated. One of his hands slapped down onto a shallow step and a groan left his lips as he shifted all weight onto that hand in order to pull himself out of the cracked floor. He shifted his weight so he was resting on his side, staring down at his hand. It was then, as he panted in exhaustion and pain, that he realized he was not alone. Turning his head and body, he came face-to-face with the Avengers.

Hawkeye had taken a position up front, crouching down no more than two feet away from the Asgardian in green, an arrow nocked and aimed straight at his already injured face. Art stood just to his right, knife brandished warningly in her hand. Both were giving him glares unmatched by any other he'd ever received in his life. Behind them stood Tony, helmetless, in his battle and space battered suit, the Hulk with a heaving chest and a growl waiting in his throat, Steve with his scuffed shield and fury in his eyes, Thor with a tensed jaw and an enraged reprimand forming in his head, and Natasha looking deathly calm with the scepter crossed over her chest. The team of heroes watched as Loki visibly realized this was a fight he could not win.

"If it's all the same to you…" Loki began, looking towards Tony. He groaned as he shifted his weight to sit more comfortably. "I'll have that drink now."

The Hulk panted out a few audibly enraged breaths, but did nothing more than clench his fists and glare at the puny god that sat beaten before them. Tony cocked his head to the left slightly, giving Loki a critical once over. The next step was taking him into custody, and that meant, for them, holding the Asgardian there till S.H.I.E.L.D. could stop by and properly detain him.

"I don't know about you guys," Tony gestured to the rest of the team, "but I think we should like Lieu and Barton take the lead on this. Whaddya say, Cap? What's your ruling?"

"I agree completely," Steve said in a dangerou monotone, eyes still locked on Loki with the mightiest among of fury in his gaze. He then turned to Thor, who was, he supposed, Asgard's diplomat and ambassador. Thor merely offered a sharp nod, a cold, disheartened sadness in his eyes. He had never expected Loki to have fallen so far… and to see him so low broke his heart in so many ways.

Art and Clint shared a look and the sharpshooter nodded towards the Asgardian in green. She sheathed her knife and Clint rose to his feet, still keeping the sights of his arrow trained on their adversary. Art's hand shot out and grabbed Loki by the bicep, hauling him up with such ease one would have thought he was just a rag-doll. Art stood two steps above him, leveling out their height enough for Art to carry through with what she'd been wanting to do the moment she saw him whimpering on the floor. Her fingers curled, the plates of metal in her gloves locked, and she swung her fist so it connected with Loki's jaw via uppercut. The Asgardian nearly toppled over, but was stopped by Art, who grabbed him by a strap on his armor and hauled him dangerously close to her face.

"If you _ever_ in your miserable little life think you can manipulate me or my friends again, I will _ensure_ that you will never see the light of day again," she growled threateningly. Her fingers tightened into a fist again, but she restrained the urge to mash his face into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp, a feeling that made her feel sick to her own stomach. Loki gripped his jaw, which throbbed with pain, and stumbled over his own feet as Art pushed him towards his blond haired brother, the only one––save maybe the Hulk––that had the ability to physically restrain him. As the Asgardian stumbled, Clint swept his feet out from under him so he was, once again, lying flat out on the floor. Thor then proceeded to place Mjölnir on his chest so he was unable to move from his position.

The tension in the room slowly ramped down, and everyone took a seat one place or another, utterly exhausted. The Hulk, eventually, shrank back down to Bruce, who took refuge behind the sofa while Tony went to go retrieve him some clothes. Art shook out her fist, which ached ever so slightly from the force with which she'd punched Loki, keeping her back to the man who had once controlled her. When Tony returned, he'd swapped his Iron Man suit for civilian clothing and toted clothes in one hand and a roll of bandages in the other. He tossed the clothes to Bruce and the bandages to Art, who gratefully went about winding them around her waist. After another moment, a clap cut through the tired quiet and they all looked back to Tony, who smiled once he had their attention.

"So, who wants shawarma?"

_**Afterword:**_ _**So, I felt like the final portion of the battle scene didn't deserve to be chopped up into a multiple chapters. Also, I feel it wouldn't do the scene justice. So here we have this chapter! I feel like I don't do a good job at writing fight scenes, but, hey, they've worked out so far. We'll get to see the shawarma scene next chapter, which is gonna be just as weirdly funny as it was as a post-credit scene.**_

_**Review Replies!**_

**grapejuice101:** _We might get a little more of Rachel in a news report later on, but I'm not sure. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _We're just finishing up Avengers right now and there's gonna be more fluff in upcoming chapter, as well as a bit of tension, but it's all gonna balance itself out well. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _I've worked out the first couple of post-Avengers events, including Artie and Steve's first __**real**_ _date. So excited! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**darck ben:** _I'm really looking forward to getting to write Wanda, and I do have a couple of ideas for a bit of Art/Wanda combat… 'cause Wanda made everyone see their worst fears, so we'll get to find out what Artie's is. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Novalunni:** _I'm glad she's come off as a badass! I try to give her moments to shine, but it's difficult sometimes 'cause combat scenes are complicated to write, ahaha! But, I'm glad she seems badass; I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _Artie got a solid punch in for Loki at the end there. I figured that she wouldn't do much more––even though she'd like to––because she doesn't want to exactly be the monster that Loki wanted her to be. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _I'm glad last chapter went well. It was hard figuring out how to fit Artie in there, but then I figured giving her her own mission to go off and do would work out best in the end. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _I figured that she needed some time to fight with Nat, even though it wasn't much. And I thought that bringing up the ammunition trucks would be a nice call-back to Dawn of Change/their time in WWII, and I'm glad it came off well! And it's interesting you bring up them fighting… 'cause it __**will**_ _happen. I know exactly what about, why, and it may happen sooner than you think. Oh, and don't worry, I'm super excited for TWS too. I cannot wait to put into play the storylines that I've got brewing for that movie! Uhg, I'm so excited! And I'm still figuring Sharon/Kate out for my story. So many directions I could go with… though, her being interested in Steve would prove interesting. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I almost didn't have them hug. I almost made them wait for this chapter, but I was like 'ehhh, they'd hug. This is the first time Steve's seen her since she was under Loki's control. They'd hug.' I'm glad I put it in, 'cause it put in a nice little interlude between fighting. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Rubyia:** _I'm glad that little Clint and Art moment was funny. I mean, Art's not gonna be amazing with every weapon she picks up, let alone a bow and arrow, which takes a good amount of training to be good at. She's lucky she even hit the Chitauri. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**MintyDaze:** _If you ever make any sort of fanart at all for this story and post it somewhere, please let me know! I would be unbelievably flattered and would probably write you a one-shot of your choice in thanks! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you again!_

**Nik1804:** _I dedicated the first bit of this chapter just to Artie and her fight to get Rachel back. And I agree, I think Artie is great with kids, but should she ever be a mother, it would be a tough adjustment since she's basically lived out in the field for so long. The feels are gonna be so real. I'm really looking forward to exercising a more serious tone for TWS, since I've got some plot things I've got bouncing around that might tend towards the darker. But, of course, there's still gonna be more StArt moments, more than there were during the movie events of the Avengers. And your reviews still always make me happy and I love getting the chance to sit down and reply to them! Thank you, once again, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter when you sat down to read it!_

**kickasscanadiandaughternumber1:** _Art and Steve are gonna get more cutesy moments soon. I've got the whole of their relationship and its progression aaaaaaallll planned out. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _I thought long and hard about what Art could go off and do since Steve takes care of the bank and what not. And I was like 'well, if there was a kid trapped out there….,' 'cause it would hit home what with her brother. I'm glad that last chapter was enjoyable and I hope you enjoyed this one as well! Thanks again!_

**KMB:** _I'm glad you've enjoyed the story so far! And I do have a fight planned. It should crop up faiiiiiirly soon. It was almost had it during the movie, but I figured that it best fit the post-movie events. And I'm still fleshing out Sharon/Kate, and am considering a more flirtatious thing towards Steve, even if it was just a cover. 'Cause, let's face it, Steve probably gets flirted with a lot and Art probably gets jealous. And vice-versa, probably. I'm glad you're looking forward to TWS, so I hope you keep on reading! Thanks again!_

**tkczombie:** _I figured, there's no way she'd be naturally skilled at bow-and-arrow-combat, or amazing with every weapon she ever picked up. I figured it would be funny if Clint was like 'are you f•cking kidding me, Artie?' I'm glad that the StArt moment mid-combat came off cutely; I was worried it might seem a bit too forced, but left it in anyway. But, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

_**And to those who added this to favorites/follows, it means so much to me!**_

_**So, we should be wrapping up the Avengers movie events fairly soon, and then we'll be on to post-Avengers stuff that should lead right into TWS when the time comes! So excited for it, oh my god. I cannot wait for you all to read what I've got planned. Been meaning to say, since some of you mentioned working on/think of making fanart for the story… if you have, let me know so I can thank you profusely! Also, I finally got to see Antman. Scott Lang is literally who I would be if I were a superhero, oh my god, what with the minor fangirling and the awkward moments. Anyway, I hope that you all enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again, guys, you rock!**_

_**~Mary**_


	19. A Long Day

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

19\. A Long Day

Art lay atop the medical table with her left arm over her head, staring at the ceiling with a blank gaze. Now that she had a chance to think on everything that happened in the last day. Throughout the course of the battle, memories had fully reconstructed and held themselves back until Art got a quiet moment. She remembered every moment on the Helicarrier. Every agent she'd killed. Every innocent agent. Many of whom had likely heard of the brave and just Lieutenant Liberty, had come to trust her living presence. And she'd killed them; against her own will and control, yes, but she'd still carried out the actions. Art felt a tear roll over the curve of her cheek while a nurse attended to a cut on her forehead. She hadn't been strong enough to push through Loki's influence and others had suffered––died––because of it. That knowledge made her stomach twist, her heart clench and crack. What worsened the blow of everything that had happened was the news about Agent Coulson, who had died in the line of duty by Loki's hand. Art hadn't broken down about the day's events until that moment. She barely knew the kind hearted man, but if there was one person who didn't deserve to die, it was him. He had only ever had everyone's best interests at heart; Coulson was one of the only members of S.H.I.E.L.D. who had ever made her feel welcomed and at home––and he'd accomplished that in the span of two days.

A sharp sting drew her out of her thoughts. The nurse had applied antiseptic to the wound on her left side. The young man murmured his apologies, to which Art shook her head with as much a smile she could muster. He then dabbed a local anesthetic to the injury and left to retrieve the rest of the tools he needed while the flesh around the gouge numbed itself. The Avengers were getting patched up inside Stark Towers as emergency services swept through the city. Natasha was having a scrape on her forehead seen to, Tony was having vitals checked out, Steve was having his knife wound stitched up, and Bruce and Clint––who both made it out virtually unscathed––were wrapped in 'shock blankets' while sipping at tea. Thor had refused medical attention in favor of overseeing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s extraction of Loki. The nurse returned with a needle and thread. Art shut her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth as he began to work on stitching up the gouge in her side.

"I've been meaning to apologize for that," said Clint's voice. Art dared to open her eyes to find that the sharpshooter had left Natasha's side to check in on her. The soldier on the table smirked wryly.

"You weren't yourself," she reminded, flinching as she felt the dull pressure of flesh being pierced by a needle. Clint's face was decidedly somber as he watched the nurse stitch up her side.

"Yeah, I guess I wasn't…" he murmured. A beat of silence followed his words. "And neither were you." Art's eyes shifted her gaze to the ceiling, knowing that he was referring to the destruction she'd left behind on the helicarrier. She remained silent and her hands tightened into fists, again drawn to the dark memories of what she'd done. She felt Clint place his hand on her right fist, which rested by her leg. Her eyes slid back towards him to see a softer, empathetic, sad look on his face. "We'll get through it, alright?"

Art nodded and flinched as the felt the thread tug at her skin. "Yeah," she agreed. "We'll get through it." They shared a smile and Clint let Steve take his place now that his wounds had been tended to. He slipped his hand into the one that was placed over her head and silently watched the nurse for a moment.

"How are you doing?" he asked gently, running his thumb over her knuckles. Art exhaled and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. Honestly, she'd been much worse physically.

"I'm alright. How 'bout you? How's that arm of yours?"

"Much better than your side. What happened to it, anyway?" Steve asked, hoping to keep her talking in order to distract her from what discomfort she was in. Art shut her eyes and focused on telling the story instead of the dull pinches and tugs of the needle and thread.

"When the Helicarrier was attacked and we all split up, I ran into Clint who was still under Loki's control. We fought and he got a good shot, straight into my side. Then, uh, a blast from a Chitauri gun burnt me pretty good," she explained.

"I thought you healed faster," Steve teased lightly, squeezing her hand as her face scrunched up in discomfort. Art curled her fingers around his tightly, thankful for the comfort and reassurance that he was offering my just being there.

"Yeah, well, when you're fighting intensely and keep reopening the wound, it makes it harder for it to start healing itself. This wound is technically considered severe; it hasn't hit anything important, but it's deep. We've got no idea how fast wounds like this heal for me…" Art trailed off. The nurse clipped the thread after finishing the last stitch and then went about bandaging it. Once that was done, Steve helped her sit up, making sure that she didn't tear any of the newly done stitches. Her undershirt, much like her suit, had taken a beating; it was stained with blood and there was a gaping hole in the side that she'd injured. She rolled said shirt down and then shrugged on the top half of the suit again, sighing softly. Steve kissed the top of her head and let his forehead rest against hers. Art placed a hand just over his heart, eyes falling shut in contentment.

"Well, I don't know about you all," Tony said as he hopped off the table he'd been sitting on top of, "but I could really go for some food."

"The city is in cleanup mode," Natasha pointed out. "I don't think anyone's gonna be in the mood to, you know, cater to our needs when there are _far_ more important things to do." It had been maybe three hours since the battle ended. Emergency services were sweeping through the city and citizens were doing what they could to clear up the streets. The team had done what they could to assist for the first hour or two, but had been pulled back in by S.H.I.E.L.D. who had insisted debriefings and medical treatment needed to be seen to.

"There's a shawarma place not too far away; the only damage it seemed to have sustained was a broken front window," Tony mentioned. Natasha arched a challenging eyebrow, a look that Tony mockingly mirrored. Steve crossed his arms and stood at Art's side, their shoulders pressed together, the two of them looking highly sceptical of Tony's suggestion.

"I have to agree with Nat on this one," Clint sided, crossing his arms.

"Everyone in this city have just come to terms with the fact they were attacked by alien lifeforms; insisting they make us food seems a little insensitive," Art agreed. Tony waved at hand at her as though he was backhanding her worries across the room. She rolled her eyes and rubbed at a kink in her neck that had appeared some time when she was lying on the table. The billionaire then turned to face her and splayed his hands through the air, palms turned upwards.

"We just saved this entire city. I don't think that we'd have to _insist_ they make us food," Tony said in casual response. Steve arched a blond brow, matching the look Natasha had given Tony moments before.

"That's a bit presumptuous," Steve pointed out.

"Well, did you presume that Artie-Tartie and the fellas who became the Howling Commandos would be grateful that you saved them?"

"Well, yes, but––"

"And were they?"

"_Yes,_ but as I was about to say––"

"There we have it then."

"Need I remind you that John Hammond _presumed_ that Alan Grant would love Jurassic Park," Art pointed out flatly with a wry smirk. "He clearly didn't." Everyone in the room stared at her silently, surprised at the reference she'd made. Shifting uncomfortably, Art shrugged her shoulders and continued to rub at the crick in her neck. "What? We do film literacy nights every Saturday… can we just get back to the topic at hand, please?"

"What topic would this be?" asked Thor, striding into the room. Tony turned to face the muscled Asgardian and gestured at the rest of the team in the room.

"The decision on whether or not we should go out for food or not," the billionaire pointed out. Thor, who had been stern of face when he walked in, suddenly beamed, striding forward to drop a heavy arm around Tony's shoulder. He chuckled and slapped Tony in the middle of the chest fondly.

"Ah, yes, a post-battle feast! It is a mighty tradition on Asgard," Thor told them all.

"They're all being Debbie Downers and saying it would be insensitive," Tony said while trying to subtly rub at the sore spot now present on his chest. Thor released him from his grasp and strode over to Steve, placing a hand on his shoulder in a brotherly manner. He smiled at everyone in the room, clearly having enough heart to put aside the considerably emotion dampening events of the day in order to be cheerful.

"A feast is to be shared amongst friends. Family. To rejoice in our victory and repent and respect those we lost. Come, friends," everyone perked up somewhat at the mention of 'friends'––a day ago he might have called them 'comrades,' if anything friendly at all, "let us feast together in a manner revered by the gods."

OOOO

It turned out that, despite Loki's snide comments of his brother being anything less of a conversationalist, Thor was quite a convincing fellow. Less than forty-five minutes later, they all found themselves seated in the small shawarma shop Tony had spotted during the battle, still dressed in their war-worn uniforms (save for Tony and Bruce). Much to Tony's smugness, the owners of the restaurant had been unbelievably thrilled to see the heroes of New York in their establishment. Hence was the reason they were all crowded around a small circular table, eating shawarma in silence. The day was clearly catching up to everyone. Steve was tiredly resting his cheek against his fist, having eaten the shawarma much faster than anyone had expected him to. Clint had one leg propped up on Natasha's chair as he lounged back in his own. Bruce, Thor, and Tony all tucked into their food with utter ferocity, acting as though they hadn't eaten in days. Though, to be fair, Bruce needed all the sustenance he could get after Hulking out. And Art, seated between Steve and Thor, was sitting cross legged on her own chair, shawarma in hand; she had to say, it was absolutely delicious. Though, she had to admit, the stinging in her side did take away from the comfort of the moment. And it _was_ comforting to be surrounded by the rest of the team. And it was comforting to, once again, have a team. The thought made Art smile as she took another large bite of shawarma.

"Midgardian cuisine is quite delightful," Thor mentioned through a mouthful. "I have yet to taste anything displeasing to the palate."

"The food's definitely gotten better," Art agreed. "In my time we just liked to boil things." Steve snorted and smiled tiredly, silently agreeing with her statement.

"That must've made for _great_ meals…" Clint chuckled under his breath. Art picked off a piece of her flatbread and tossed it at him, a tired smirk appearing on her face. The little wad of flatbread hit him square in the forehead and then landed in his lap.

"My aunt's Sunday Roast was _delicious_ and not one part of it happened to be boiled," she informed in a falsely snooty tone. Clint nodded slowly as he bit into his shawarma, the expression playfully reading as 'right, sure it was.' Thor swallowed the bite of food he'd been chewing and placed a hand on Art's shoulder with a very near solemn look on his face.

"I would very much like to sample this Sunday Roast," he told her.

"I'll have to make it some time, then. It won't ever be as good as Florence's, but, I can certainly try."

"So, uh, not to bring down the mood or anything," Tony said, folding his hands over his stomach and propping his feet up on the edge of the table, "but what's gonna happen to Loki?"

They all lapsed into silence and turned their attention to Thor, who set down the wax paper he'd had balled up in his fist. "Loki and the Tesseract shall return to Asgard with me. There, he will answer for his crimes." Thor's face darkened a smidgen as he appeared to consider what Loki would be subjected to once they returned home. "I can assure you he will not cause you any more pains."

"And the Cube?" Steve asked, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed.

"The Tesseract will be kept out of reach of those who might wish to abuse its power."

"And good riddance to it," Art murmured, setting the rest of her Shawarma down. "I've had enough close-contact with that thing to last several lifetimes."

"Try several hundred," Clint grumbled into his food.

"But, hey, the last couple days were fun," Tony drawled. "We made new friends… new enemies… and, most importantly, we saved the world." He stretched out an arm and snatched his waxy paper cup filled with Coke. Raising it high over his head with a plainly serious look on his face that Art had never seen before, he nodded to everyone seated at the table. "To the best motley crew I've ever had the pleasure to fight with."

Clint smirked, snorted, and raised his own cup, which was mostly drained, and said, "To all you screwballs."

"I don't have the energy to come up with some cleverly endearing insult," Natasha laughed, picking up her cup.

Thor grasped hold of his third cup of some Midgardian everage known as Mr. Pibb and raised it high. The cup was almost comically small in his hand, and Tony snickered at how he'd somehow convinced the Asgardian warrior to order the smallest sized cup. "To a fight well fought." Bruce, with utter exhaustion on his face, uncapped his water bottle and gestured towards Thor.

"What he said."

Steve smiled gently and nodded at the group around the table. He raised his cup with a warm toned, "To the team."

Art was the last to make a toast. And, as she curled her fingers around the cheap paper cup, as she contemplated what to say, a familiar image came to mind. A bunch of men gathered around a table in a dimly lit pub, battle worn and tired. A team of comrades who had seen hell, come back from it, and raised a glass to one another. She remembered the Howling Commandos and the nights that they toasted to one another in solidarity and friendship. So, with all of the faces of her new team turned towards her, she raised her cup and she smiled, finally deciding upon a toast that she had spoken many times before.

"To family."

OOOO

That night, sirens continued to wail through the city as ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars sped around corners to deal with the aftermath of the battle. Art and Steve had returned to their apartment to find that most of the windows had shattered and that they'd need to buy new curtains. The power for the whole of the building also seemed to be out. It looked as though a Chitauri soldier might have crashed into the living room at some point. Clint had stopped by to pick up Lucky, both of whom were overjoyed to see one another again; he sharpshooter departed after helping his two friends pin sheets over their shattered windows, mentioning that he was rather good with renovative work and would help them out in thanks for looking after his dog. By the time Art and Steve retired for the evening, it was round about ten, and they were the most exhausted they'd been for a very long time.

Despite not having slept the night before and having been brainwashed and injured, Art couldn't fall asleep. Exhaustion caused her eyes to flutter shut, but a nagging feeling at the back of her mind prevented her from actually falling asleep. Memories flooded her head like living nightmares. She saw herself attacking S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and trying to kill Steve; she saw them behind her eyelids, like she was being forced to watch horror movies each time she shut her eyes. A heaviness sat in her limbs, which was likely left over from the time she'd spent under Loki's influence. She was unable to shake the overall feeling of cold that came with that heaviness, a type of could that couldn't be warmed with blankets or a cup of hot tea. It was that type of chill one got when they felt guilty or sad or alone; those three emotions were whirling about in her stomach like a sickening cocktail. She placed a hand over her eyes and sighed with frustration, teeth grinding against each other. All Art wanted to do was sleep. But the room was too quiet, too still, and too empty, and everything about it felt stifling.

Art maneuvered herself off the bed with slow, careful movements, making sure that she didn't tear any of her stitches. She quickly exited her room and approached the door to Steve's. She raised her fist and swung it towards the door, knuckles freezing a few inches away from the slab of wood. Hesitation. For all she knew, Steve was fast asleep and wouldn't hear her knock. With a steady exhale, she let her knuckles fall against the door and repeated the gesture. After a brief pause of silence, she heard a quiet 'come in' from the room beyond the doorway. Inside, Steve was sitting up in bed, with comforters and sheets tangled across the mattress. His blond locks of hair were rumpled and falling into his face, speaking of a restless attempt at sleeping. Art pushed the door shut and offered a small, nervous smile.

"Would you mind if… if I… slept with you tonight?" she asked, gesturing to the empty half of his bed. Steve stared at her for a long moment, eyes wide and brows raised. "I-in your bed, I mean. I just… don't want to be alone after… after everything that happened."

"O-of course," Steve finally managed to get out. He flipped one corner of the blankets back and smoothed out a couple of the wrinkles. "I… wouldn't mind some company either."

Art crossed over to the edge of the bed and sat herself down on the edge of it. She carefully laid down and tucked her feet under the blankets before she drew them up to her chest. Beside her, Steve shifted around a bit and laid down beside her, the two of them simply staring up at the ceiling for a handful of quiet moments. One might have accused their awkwardness of being in the same bed as something attributed to being born and raised around the thirties and forties. But the thing was, it wasn't. It had been an expectation, an unspoken rule––from their families, at least––that they wouldn't be in the same bed as someone of the opposite sex unless they were going to be married. But that wasn't what was causing them to lay there so silently. They had cared for one another for so long that the word 'care' didn't even encapsulate how they felt any more. Those feelings were so strong that, on occasion, they had perhaps thought of snuggling into each other's sides on cold winter nights. Thought of kissing the other's forehead and smiling into their hair as the night grew old. So many vastly different scenarios had flitted through their heads, that to finally have it happen gave them a moment of pause.

Art then shifted onto her stomach and draped an arm over Steve's middle. Her head rested comfortably against his right shoulder, and his arm slowly wound itself around her waist. Steve turned his head so his nose was buried in Art's hair, lips brushing against the crown of her head. Art's lips drew themselves into a smile and she let her eyes fall shut, feeling completely comfortable and at ease. It felt right to be tucked into Steve's side, to have her head against his shoulder, and her ankle hooked over his. The warmth that radiated off his body was relaxing and slowly began to lull her towards sleep, which hadn't easily come to her minutes before. Steve had always been able to do that––always been able to make her feel comforted and relaxed.

"I love you, Steve," Art told him, the first three words leaving her lips in a blissful admission. It was the first time she'd ever said it to him, though she had thought it dozens of times before. She could feel the rise of his chest freeze before a steady exhale left his nose. Opening her eyes, she tilted her head back to see Steve beaming down at her with an impossibly large smile. His left hand brushed hair out of her face before falling to rest on her cheek.

"I love you too, Artie," Steve replied softly, lovingly. He kissed her with a soft fervor that reminded Art of the kiss they'd shared on the Helicarrier. She returned the kiss, fingers curling into the fabric of his soft, cotton shirt. When the kiss broke, both were still smiling brightly, if not a touch tiredly. The verbal admission and confirmation of their feelings for one another brought one of the longest days of their lives to a close, a close that was significantly better than the start.

_**Afterword:**_ _**There we have it! Sometime within the next few chapters we'll finish up with the final scene of Avengers and then start trucking towards Winter Soldier, which I am SO supremely excited to write about! I rather liked this chapter. The shawarma scene was actually really hard to write, having to come up with conversation topics that they'd be talking about and what not. I hope you all enjoyed it, though :)**_

_**Review replies!**_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I'm glad that Selene interacting with the civilians came off well; it was a difficult sequence of events to write properly. And the kiss… oh, it was so, so, __**so**_ _over due, but they finally got to it! I hope you enjoyed the shawarma scene, it was fun and difficult to write. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _I've been entertaining the idea, but I don't know if I will. I hope you enjoyed the idea! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _When I thought of where she could have a little bit of fighting on her own, I thought, Rockefeller Plaza ice rink seemed like a good option; and I'm glad that you enjoyed that bit! Art will probably track down the detective and give him his gun back. And the fight is approaching… maybe not within the next two chapters, but it's approaching. And it's exciting to think about because I've never written them as fighting with one another, and they both have such strong personalities that it'll be interesting to see it all go down. All my stressful stuff is beginning to wane and straighten itself out; I'll be majoring in theatre arts/acting and (hopefully) getting a minor in creative writing. I've got a creative head and heart and can't think of a life without it! As for how many chapters till TWS… maybe five? Not too many. I'll probably be doing time jumps here and there. And TWS will be in the WS category, so it'll be its own story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Constantly Paranoid:** _I'm very, very, very happy you've enjoyed the chapter so far! Hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _I'm glad you enjoyed last chapter and hope that this one was up to par! Thanks again!_

**OhSnapItzFrani:** _I'm glad you loved that Rachel's parents are two men :) When I imagined Rachel, I just immediately went 'yeah, she's got two dads.' I thought that they'd be a very sweet family and I LOVE to put in tiny details like that! It makes things more realistic; I'm very happy that you enjoyed last chapter––thanks again!_

**darck ben:** _Where was the spelling mistake last chapter? If you let me know I'll go and fix it :) and I would have to give it some thought. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _Glad you enjoyed it! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _It's totally fine; the website went on the fritz for a little bit a couple weeks ago. I'm glad that you enjoyed Artie's solo moments, they were a blast to write! We'll probably see Rachel and her dads again, like, in a news report or something. And maybe they'll run into one another some day. It would be a cute little scene to write! HYDRA is a sneaky little organization and they most certainly have kept tabs on Art, like they've kept them on Steve. And Bucky and Artie interacting is just going to be so, SO feelsy. I really hope you enjoyed the chapter! And thank you, for saying my writing skills are ninja-like and kick-ass; it makes me smile like a goof! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _I'm very happy that the fighting scenes read well! I always take a technical stage-fighting choreographing approach to them being like 'now, what would happen next…' TWS is approaching! I cannot wait to write it, ahhh! I hope you enjoyed the story! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _I love writing them being cutesy and all that jazz. They're just far too adorable. And I saw Ant-Man three times, I'm in love with it. If I were a superhero, I would probably end up being like Scott, ahaha! I can't wait to write him meeting Artie and Steve and what not! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**tkczombie:** _That little flagpole scene is going to come back; it'll probably pop back up next chapter. Hadn't thought of souvenirs, but I've got my ideas :) Oh, I love writing Artie carrying people taller/bigger than her. The image is just too good to pass up. I can't wait till I get a chance to make her carry Steve––it'll be perfect! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Guest:** _We very well might get to see that… ;) I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**ThePhantomismyLove:** _Here's another chapter! I hope you enjoyed it; thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those who added this story to their follows/favorites; it means a lot to me!**_

_**And till next time, that is that! In the upcoming chapters, we get to see Matt again, we'll get to see Kenny, and there'll be a fight amongst other things. Probably some funny Avengers moments before Steve and Artie move off to D.C. I hope you're all excited for Winter Soldier, because I CANNOT wait to write it! Anyways, before I get too ahead of myself, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again, you all rock!**_

_**~Mary**_


	20. A Symbol of Hope

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

20\. A Symbol of Hope

In the weeks following the Battle of New York, as the press was calling it––the locals simply referred to it as 'the incident'––the city was brought back to it's close-to-typical buzzing ways. Disaster relief organizations had been sent in from around the country to assist in cleaning up the streets and fixing buildings. Grand Central Terminal was still mostly closed now that they had to repair leviathan sized holes and replace dozens upon dozens of windows and repair cracked flooring. The statue of Hermes that typically graced the exterior, just above the clock, had been smashed to pieces during the battle; the city insisted they erect a new statue of the Heroes of New York––the Avengers. But when the team found out about the proposition, they issued a public statement requesting that the statute be of the true heroes that had been present that day: the first responders. So the statue that was being produced was of the firefighters and policemen who had appeared on the scene with such immediacy and had braved their bizarre foes to make sure every citizen they encountered was safe.

TIME Magazine had released an issue purely about the Battle of New York. It gave in-depth first hand experiences, documented what details had been released to the public, and had posed some of the controversies that had arisen once the smoke had cleared, both metaphorically and literally. The cover of that issue was of what was surely to become an iconic picture. Snapped by someone who had been at the Rockefeller Ice Rink, it was Art in the pose that Tony had called 'one of the most American things he'd ever seen.' Art was kneeling in the fountain with water bubbling around her knees, her head was hung, damp dangling about her face in wet strands, hands curled around the pole of an American flag that was embedded in the chest of a dead Chitauri. There were pictures of most the Avengers inside the issue, from phone pictures, to professional grade images, snapped before everyone was pulled off the streets. There was one of Steve standing atop a taxi, head ducked as black smoke filled the street. Amongst other photographs, one of Art cradling Rachel to her chest through the Rockefeller Concourse had been sent in. There were numerous photos of Tony and a handful of ones of the Hulk. An entire section of the magazine was titled 'The Triumphant Return of America's First Super Heroes: Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty.'

All the Avengers were present the day Thor, Loki, and the Tesseract were sent back to Asgard. They arrived solemnly, ready to finally put this nightmare to bed. Loki had been kept in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody and constant watch for the remainder of the time he'd spent on earth. During that time he had been muzzled so he was unable to speak, and no one had been allowed to interact with him in any way. Thor––the only one that everyone was definitely sure could properly handle the trickster god––held a chain that was attached to Loki's cuffs, leading him to their designated spot of departure like a dog. Loki's icy eyes were narrowed and his expression was vastly unreadable thanks to the muzzle. Selvig had shown up with a containment apparatus that could hold the Tesseract and harness its energy to transport the two Asgardians back to their home. Art curled her arm around Steve's as they watched Tony and Selvig carefully settle the Tesseract into the glass cylinder; Steve placed a hand over hers as they watched the two men work together with cautious precision. The faces of the two soldiers were pinched with resentment towards the alien device. It was a relief to finally see the Cube off, to know it was going to be far out of their reach, where it couldn't bother them any longer.

Loki, who stood a few feet off thanks to the amount of slack the length of chain had offered, raised his eyes to stare up at Clint; the sharpshooter remained expressionless, his eyes hidden behind a set of sunglasses. Natasha turned to whisper something in Clint's ear, something that made him smile at the beaten god before them. Loki then turned to the side so he might face Thor… and then turned his head to look straight at Art. She stared right back, expression composed in a look of stern anger. Never again would she have to see his face again. She could live the rest of her life without having to deal with the devil of a man who had dragged the earth through hell as he smiled and laughed on. Now he wouldn't hurt anyone ever again, if what Thor said was true. Something about his expression changed, all of a sudden. Loki's eyes crinkled at the corners, a sure sign that, beneath his muzzle, he was smiling. It was deeply unsettling, a look that didn't match the remaining bruises and cuts that dotted his face. Art's brows pinched together in concern and the crinkling around Loki's eyes smoothed out, leaving his gaze cold and dangerous.

Thor approached his brother, then, Mjolnïr in one hand, the encapsulated Tesseract in the other. Either end of the capsule had handles that both gods were supposed to grasp hold of. Loki and Thor shared a tense, silent moment as the golden haired Asgardian proffered his brother the other handle. Thor had said his goodbyes to the rest of the team earlier, knowing full well that this moment had to be efficient and unaffected. Loki reached a cuffed hand outwards and grabbed hold of the handle, his long fingers curling around the piece of metal. Thor then made eye-contact with each of his teammates, each of his new family members, and nodded in solemn comradeship. Then, with a twist of his wrist, he turned his handle and activated the capsule. Enveloped in streaks of Tesseract blue energy, Thor and Loki shot up into the sky, disappearing into the universe above them.

"It's over," murmured Art, staring up into the sky. Steve slipped his hand into hers and gave her fingers a squeeze.

"Thank god for that," Bruce sighed, pushing his hands into his pockets. "So… I guess that's that, then, isn't it?"

"Well, I mean, we'll all still be around; and, without a doubt, Fury will call us back to action soon enough," Tony reassured. "But, till our next Avengers dinner party… I suppose it is, uh, goodbye."

The next few minutes were composed of goodbyes and promises to get together before the world needed saving again. Art wound her arms around Clint's neck, her fingers curling against the grey hood of his sweatshirt. She smiled as the sharpshooter curled his arms around her waist, one hand firmly sitting between her shoulderblades. At the beginning of the whole ordeal they'd just become comfortable with calling one another friend; and now, that bond felt undeniably strengthened. Art's eyes fell shut and she ducked her head so her chin rested on his shoulder.

"Don't you dare make yourself a stranger," she threatened with a fond laugh. Clint chuckled as they stepped out of the embrace. He kept both of his hands solidly placed on her shoulders, smiling at her broadly.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Artie. Any time you wanna have a chat, give me a call or shoot me a text," he told her. Then he chuckled and squeezed her shoulders. "I'd love to be the first person to get a text from Lieutenant Liberty." Art shook her head, a smile still stretched across her lips.

"We'll see how technologically competent I end up being." She reached up and squeezed one of his hands. It was very likely that he would soon be called away on a mission, and, perhaps, she would be too. While it wasn't a permanent goodbye, it could definitely be goodbye for quite some time. "Keep yourself safe, alright, Clint?"

"Same goes to you, Artie."

Once goodbyes were exchanged, Steve and Art slipped onto the motorcycle that Steve had purchased the week before. He prefered motorcycles to cars; most of it had something to do with the two wheeled vehicle being his main mode of transport during the war. But besides that, motorcycles had a sense of timeless freedom that he relished. Tony watched as Art swung her leg over the seat and situated herself behind Steve, winding her arms around his waist.

"You're a brave woman for wearing a dress and heels on that thing," Tony commented, gesturing to Art's lovely white dress and russet colored Mary Janes. Art chuckled and let her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

"Thank you. Though, that's not the most brave thing I've done on the back of a motorcycle," Art informed as she and Steve stepped into the warm sunlight the rest of the team was basking in. Tony arched an eyebrow and pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Sounds kinky."

"Not if it involves me driving through the window of a HYDRA truck. I trust that we'll be seeing you sooner than we think?"

"So long as you live in this city, you'll not be rid of me," Tony informed as he slipped into his sports car. Art felt Steve chuckle, and could practically hear him roll his eyes. He then pushed the kickstand up and started up the motorcycle, letting the engine growl to life. Tony raised a hand to give them a sharp, brief salute. "Captain. Lieutenant."

"Mr. Stark," Steve responded with a nod of his head.

Steve pulled the motorcycle away from the curb and started down the street. The day was pleasantly warm and beautifully sunny, and that only added to the suddenly light feeling that filled the two on the bike. The Tesseract was gone, the fighting was done, and the day was beautiful. Both were smiling as they trundled towards home without much of a care, for the first time in since they'd woken up in the modern age. Art rested her chin atop Steve's shoulder and turned her head to kiss his cheek. She then shut her eyes and let the warm breeze work its way through her hair, relishing the blessed moment of freedom that had been bestowed on them.

OOOO

A handful of days after Loki and the Tesseract had departed earth, Art was called into the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York headquarters. Once she'd arrived, she made her way to the training center, which was two floors beneath street level, and found Fury waiting for her. Without so much as a greeting, he nodded for her to walk with him. Art followed without a word or protest, walking with a very militaristic stride that was juxtaposed by the clicking of the heels of her Mary Janes.

"Lieutenant Knoll, in light of recent events, I've decided to make both you and Captain Rogers a proposition. I want you to keep up doing what you're doing––want you to keep leading, keep fighting, keep doing what you two do best––keeping the peace and bringing the unjust to justice," Fury informed as they walked, passing training rooms and locker rooms. Art looked over her shoulder at him, a slight furrow present between her brows. It was a surprised furrow, one that was accompanied by a thrill that ran down her spine.

"Really?" she asked. Fury clasped his hands behind his back and offered a nod, the two slowing to a stop so she could properly take a moment to consider the offer.

"I've offered Rogers the same. We're just waiting for your answer, now."

Art lightly gnawed on her bottom lip, considering the proposition that she was being presented with. She didn't have to ask to know that Steve had said yes, and he'd likely said it in a heartbeat. They had both agreed in the weeks following the Battle that the most they'd felt at home in months had been when they were in places like S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, or the quinjet, or in the fight. It had something to do with the timelessness of the militaristic feel that had been present in all of those places. Their lives had been comprised of such an atmosphere for so long when they'd been fighting in the forties, that to have spent _months_ in civilian life had felt… strange. They were used to early morning wake-up calls, used to giving orders and making contingency plans, used to putting their lives on the line as explosions shook their bones. What they _weren't_ used to was going to the grocery store at the beginning of every week, hailing taxis, jumping at car horns, and making small talk with people they didn't know. Albeit, she would admit being out of the fight was a welcomed change… it was lovely to get a taste of what Art had left behind when she left for the war, but it had all changed and all become so different… yet when S.H.I.E.L.D. had called for her aid, when she'd been back in action doing what she did best… she had felt more at home and more comfortable than she had aimlessly wandering Central Park. Art had always known it was her calling to protect and defend; if anything, Loki's invasion had only solidified that feeling.

"I would be honored, Director Fury, to take you up on this very kind offer," Art told him in a regulated––but thankful––tone. "I will do everything in my power to protect this country…" she trailed off, eyes wandering from Fury's face as she gave something thought. She had become so accustomed to saying 'country' in a phrase such as the one she'd just said. But, in light of recent events, she thought that, perhaps, she could dare to say a bigger word. "... This _world_ and its citizens."

Fury's lips twitched into what might've been a smile, but it was fleeting; but the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes let Art know that it had, indeed, been a smile. He nodded for them to start walking again as he said, "We were hoping you might say that. And, in those hopes, we went ahead and commissioned a specialized weapon for you." Art arched an eyebrow with confusion tugging her lips down into a frown. "I take it you saw the TIME Magazine edition about the Battle?" Art nodded slowly. "So then you know that you made the cover; and whether you like it or not, that picture is gonna be famous. It's gonna be one of the first things that people who heard 'Lieutenant Liberty' are gonna think of. So, vamping off that picture, we decided to make you a specialty weapon."

Art stayed silent as she thought over every inch of the mentioned picture. What about it would warrant a 'specialty weapon?' Then, after thinking over the small details, she returned to the glaring obvious, returned to what the picture was actually _of_. Her, kneeling over the dead body of a Chitauri that she'd killed with the pole of an American flag. Both of her brows shot upwards and a little laugh tinkled in the back of her throat.

"Are you trying to tell me that you're making me a flagpole?" she deadpanned as they stopped in front of a door. Fury punched in a code and smirked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"Not exactly."

The room beyond the door reminded Art of Howard's workshop back in London. What solidified that thought was the fact that Tony was sitting atop one of the work benches, turning a gun over-and-over in his hands. She suspected that it was someone else's workshop seeing as Tony only ever did his inventing in Stark Towers––or, Avengers Tower, as it was soon to be called––but he seemed perfectly at home surrounded by all of the tech and half-made objects. When Fury and Art passed through the door, Tony set the gun aside and hopped off the table, putting a metal case where he'd previously been sitting. He smiled at them and raised a hand in greeting.

"Ready to see what I've got in store for you, Artie-Tartie?" he asked, unlocking the case he'd brought with him. Fury gestured Art forward, and as she walked towards the billionaire, she smirked and smoothed out the fabric of her skirt. A strange sense of déjà vu came over her and it caused her smirk to turn into a smile.

"I've always gotten nothing but the best from you Stark boys," she pointed out. "That vest Howard made me was a godsend." Tony snorted and cast a look over his shoulder.

"I could've made it better––but let's wait to debate who was the better inventor. Take a gander." Tony tossed something silver and cylindrical her way, the object blurring through the air. As she caught it, Tony leaned up against the workbench and crossed his arms. "It's not vibranium, unfortunately, but it's the strongest stuff I could get hold of."

Art looked down at what she'd snatched out of the air. Quite simply, it was a thin metal tube with two buttons on its side––one was rectangular and the other was circular. It fit in her grasp comfortably and was about as tall as a twelve ounce can of soda. She turned it every-which-way, trying to look more impressed than she felt. "It's… a tube. A… metal tube…" Tony rolled his eyes and waved his hands at her in a 'back-up' gesture.

"You're the most un-curious person––press the button, Lieu." After shooting him a look from under her lashes, she let her thumb skim over the button that was set into the side of the tube. "And, uh, you might want to… hold it away from your body," Tony interjected quickly. Art slowly extended her arm and arched an eyebrow as if to ask if she'd correctly done as he had asked. "And hold it horizontally." She twisted her wrist to the side so her knuckles were facing the ceiling. "Now you can push the button."

Her thumb pressed against the rectangular button and, almost immediately, either end of the tube opened and ejected more tubing that clicked and locked into place to form a staff. On either end, the tips were painted with bands of red and blue, with a band of silver dividing the two. Art stared at it in surprise, mouth falling open. Well, at least there wasn't a flag dangling off the end of it. She tentatively turned her wrist from side-to-side, testing the weighting––it was fairly light, but weighted enough to hurt if struck.

"That is definitely impressive," Art mentioned, setting one end of the staff on the ground. Length-wise, it stood at about half a foot over her own height. "What does the second button do?" She'd asked quietly, mostly to herself, but then she looked to Tony with an expressionless look. "If it ejects a flag out of the top, I will punch you."

"I'd thought about it, but I thought that Capsicle's suit was all star-spangling you needed." Art rolled her eyes and Tony smiled. After clicking the circular button, the bottom half of the staff retracted to leave it at half its length. "It can deal some serious damage if you swing hard enough and it can withstand up to three hundred pounds––but I'd still be cautious because that's a rough estimate. I've been thinking it might need a little something else… like an option to electrify the metal or something. Give it a little 'oomf,' you know?"

"That would certainly be shocking," Art deadpanned, smirking at her own horrible pun. Tony groaned and pulled a face, shaking his head––he liked to believe he was the best at making nicknames and puns, and this was only proving his point. "Maybe a grip would be beneficial." Tony hummed and nodded, rubbing at his chin, eyeing the device that he'd been asked to create. Art turned her attention to Fury and gestured to the staff she held. "You do know I… have _never_ trained with anything like this."

"We're well aware; which is why we're sure that you'll be taking the time to familiarize yourself with it," Fury told her. Art had re-extended the bottom half of the staff and twirled it around a bit, pulling a face of indiscernible expression.

"So… I'm learning to use this because the public is going to _expect_ me to use something like this?" she asked. There was a slight tinge of what sounded like concern in her voice. Fury spread out his arms and took a couple steps forward.

"Yes, and no. You're a public figure, Lieutenant, and you have been for a _very_ long time. There are certain expectations that you're being held to. Yes, we want you to have the staff, but we want you to have it because, to those you saved at that ice rink, it represents a moment of _hope_. That's what Cap's shield represents, that's what _you both_ represent. I don't think the public is going to expect you to use anything but the pistol and machine gun you've been pictured using since your first depiction in the Captain America comic series. But they'll damn well make a connection between that staff and that flag pole. Besides that, it's just another weapon to have in your ever-growing arsenal," Fury told her, his tone of voice stern but simultaneously inspiring. It was the sort of voice one would use to give a pep talk in a more solemn situation.

Art stared up at the top of the staff at the bands of color. Red, silver, and blue, just like the rings on Steve's shield. Perhaps her apprehension about the new weapon had to do with the fact that it was a change. Change was something she'd become well acquainted with, but it was still difficult to get a grasp on. But change was necessary, it was a part of life, and she and Steve were living examples of how hard change could be on a person. But sometimes change happened for the better. Sometimes the necessity of it was outweighed by positive affects that it could have. Art turned her back on the other two in the room and began to tentatively test the movement range of the staff in her hand. She made slow, smooth swings, careful not to hit anything on any of the surrounding tables. Holding it in both hands, she glanced over her shoulder at Tony, who was watching her with a contemplative look.

"If you end up electrifying this thing, you better make sure that the handle is insulated."

_**Afterword:**_ _**I admit, this isn't my favorite chapter, and I had a lot of trouble writing it. 'Cause it was too early to introduce Steve and Artie's fight, and I couldn't think of much to happen between the last chapter and when they'd send Loki back to Asgard. So, next chapter will be more exciting, more fun, and we'll probably get to see a more tense side to the StArt relationship. Also, the staff was just something that I came up with on a whim, so I don't know if I'll keep it or not. She might use it for a while and then get rid of it if it doesn't end up working out. I dunno. Let me know what you guys think about it.**_

_**Review replies!**_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _They did finally say it! I've got an idea that each movie sort of helps progress their relationship to the next level, sort of strengthening it and whatnot. And I'm very happy that you enjoyed the shawarma scene! I'm excited to get to CAWS, but we've still got a handful of chapters till we get there––'cause we've gotta see Steve and Artie's first __**actual**_ _date, and maybe a mission or two. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _The bit about Leo in Ant-Man was, hands-down, one of the moments that really got me laughing. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, even if it wasn't as cutesy––or at all cutesy––as the last one. Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _I'm glad you loved it! Hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**darch ben:** _Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

**grapejuice101:** _I'm happy you're looking forward to CAWS. I am too, I can't wait to get started! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**The Redshirt who Lived:** _StArt cuddling=too cute for words. We're gonna get more cute StArt moments before Winter Soldier begins so they're relationship is really solidified before they go through the emotional torture of the next movie. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _I had a spur of the moment need to have her reference something and surprise everyone, and thought, hey, why not Jurassic Park? It's considered a classic, and I think she'd rather enjoy it. Matt and Foggy should be in the next chapter, so I'm suuuuper excited to write that up! And then we'll meet some Agents of SHIELD peeps at some point, too. I'm still trying to figure out a good name for the next installment of this story––I've had an idea, but I don't think it fits anymore now that I've really planned out CAWS. So that's a work in progress, ahaha! Art majors are difficult––I'm FINALLY over all of my confusing school related mix-up stuff, so I get to get started on all that good fun. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _I'm glad the arc came to a good close! I thought that it was a good moment to end that bit of the Avengers arc and start a new one for Art and Steve's relationship. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _More fluff is to come, I promise! Ahh, the plans I have. When I sat down to think about where the shawarma scene fit in I really did just go 'wait… they really just went to get shawarma as everyone is, undeniably, in cleanup mode?' So I thought it would do well for them to actually talk out whether or not they should go get it. The feels will be strong and, I have to say, there will be a lot of moments that are just show up out of nowhere; Winter Soldier is gonna be a real rollercoaster. We will see Rachel again, probably in an interview next chapter. And I think Artie would totally apologize to those she hurt, especially since that's going to be something nagging on her conscience for a very long time. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you again for your lovely review!_

**Jo:** _That's one of the things that I thought was kinda odd about the first Avengers movie––Thor is definitely quite smart, and quite intellectual, but he seemed––to me at least––a tad dumbed down. So, I thought it would be nice if he was the one to suggest that they 'feast together as friends.' I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**Leopard Feather:** _I've already got stuff for Age of Ultron planned out––such as worst fears, little arguments, relationship progressions, and all that jazz. Still got a little ways to go till I get to write it, but, oh, do I have plans! I'm very flattered to hear that you think that Artie is one of the best integrated OCs into a Captain America fic. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _I had a blast writing the last scene of the previous chapter. An 'awww' inducing moment indeed. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**A Hobbit:** _I'm glad you've been enjoying the story! I can't wait for Winter Soldier either… the feels will be real and, ahh, the plans I have! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**wickedgirl123:** _I figured that the first time they said 'I love you' would be incredibly adorable and very private, so that's what I strove for, and I'm glad it read well! Winter Soldier, as I have been hinting at and warning, is going to be an emotional rollercoaster. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**Changer of Reality:** _I'm glad you've enjoyed the story! Thanks again!_

**The girl with no life:** _The Jurassic Park reference––I'm glad that people enjoyed it, I was worried it would seem too out of character. And the ending scene has been one of my favorite moments to write! I hope that you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!  
_**tkczombiepe:** _Clint and Art have definitely got a special friendship, and I'm gonna explore that as the stories go onwards. It's kinda gonna be like a Buck and Steve sort of relationship, I think––being mischievous and all that goodness. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**sPaRkzZz:** _I'm very happy to hear that you enjoyed the stories enough to devour them, as you said. You are very much welcome, I have had such a blast being able to share this story with those who are willing to read it. The Winter Soldier is, probably, my favorite Marvel movie, and I have so many plans for it! I hope that you'll stick around to read more; thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those who have added this to their favorites/follows; it means a lot!**_

_**And that's it for now. Next time, we'll probably see our sweet dumpster ninja Matt, and tensions may begin to rise. I'm hoping to update before I depart for the UK in a week, but, if not, it should be up shortly after I arrive. Thanks again for taking the time to read, everyone! You all rock!**_

_**~Mary**_


	21. Post-Battle Blues

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

21\. Post-Battle Blues

"You'll work yourself ragged!" Kenny exclaimed as Art climbed the stairs with planks of wood balanced on her right shoulder. Art rolled her eyes and shifted the plastic bag in her left hand, which was filled with prettily patterned fabric. Kenneth's apartment building had been hit during the Battle, blasting holes in the upper most floors on the east side of the building. His apartment was luckily located on the western side of the building; the eastern side had taken the brunt of the damage, but that didn't mean that his windows hadn't shattered and his walls hadn't cracked. Since the Battle's end, Art had jumping from place to place, helping out with repair work as much as she could. S.H.I.E.L.D. insisted that the Avengers keep quiet, mostly because the higher-ups were actually determining whether they wanted the team disbanded or not. So, as the public debated whether or not the Avengers were a force of good or a force of destruction, Artie went around to help those she could. And that week, round about a month after the attack, she was focusing on Kenny's building. The structural damage had already been dealt with, the holes had been patched, and the cracks sealed, but there were still small details to attend to; such as building window panes and sewing curtains.

"Then I'll sleep better than I have in weeks," Art responded as she crested the landing. She was now standing face-to-face with her concerned looking brother, who stood with his arms crossed and his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Art and Steve had taken to sharing a bed, finding that their presences comforted one another and warded off terribly unpleasant dreams. But that didn't mean neither of them didn't wake up in a cold-sweat. Most nights, Art would find herself dreaming about the people she'd killed, the families she'd changed. And every morning when she woke up, she felt more determined to do something to fix the wrongs she'd done. The previous night, she hadn't slept at all; she'd only laid awake with her head on Steve's chest, staring into the dark corners of the room. Kenny sighed and moved his wrinkled hands to settle them on his hips.

"You'll throw out your shoulder. What are you carrying, twenty pounds?" He gestured to the stack of wood on her shoulder, shaking his head. Art smirked at him and turned to head up the next flight of stairs.

"I may be ninety-four, but I've got the looks and body of a twenty-eight year-old, Ken, not to mention the, uh, super-serum. I've got this," she laughed, setting her foot on the first step. Behind her, Kenny sighed and she was sure that he'd probably shaken his head.

"I don't give a rat's ass about super-serum, you can still hurt yourself. Do you know the heart attack you put me through when I saw pictures of you during the Battle? When I saw the amount _blood_ staining your suit?" Kenneth demanded, following her a few steps behind. Art beamed tiredly at the wall, chuckling in the back of her throat.

"I swear that we've swapped sibling roles."

"I'm sure we have. After thinking you were dead for years… only to find out that you're _alive_… that means I'm gonna do _everything_ in my power to make sure that you stay that way."

The smile on Art's face waned and became tinged with sadness. It honestly saddened her to know that their roles had been switched. She had always expected to be the one who comforted him when he got sick, the one to fight off the bullies who would come down the street with dirt on their faces and sticks in their hands… and now he had taken it upon himself to do that for her. The day after the Battle, Kenneth had walked the two or so miles from his apartment to Art and Steve's, simply to check on her and give her painkillers that he'd had in his medicine cabinet. He swore to 'give whoever wounded her a good ol' sock across the jaw.' But there was nothing on the earth––or beyond––that Art wouldn't do to keep her brother out of harm's way, even after all the years.

"Kenny, why don't you go back to your apartment? I'll be down in a moment, I'm just dropping this wood off," Art said as she stepped onto the landing and made for the second set of steps. Kenny's response was to grumble something about her being stubborn and tromp back down the stairs, making for his apartment.

As promised, once she'd dropped off the stack of wood two floors up, Art returned to Kenny's apartment with the fabric for his new curtains. He had kept Aunt Florence's sewing machine––as ancient as it was in the modern age––and she had decided that since she knew how the Singer machine worked, she wasn't going to wrestle with a newer model. As she sat down at the the wooden desk and began to sort out the fabric, which she'd cut out and pinned at home, Kenny appeared from the kitchen and placed a hand on his older sister's shoulder. She looked up at him questioningly and he moved his hand to her cheek. Concern crinkled his brow, and his lips had tugged downwards.

"You're tired…" he murmured, a thumb sweeping across her cheekbone. Art sighed and turned her face away, looking back down at the fabric piled in her lap.

"It's like I said––I haven't been sleeping well."

"What's bothering you?" Art said nothing and began to work on the first hem of the curtain with practiced ease; it was like riding a bike, she thought to herself. Kenneth briefly left the room and returned with a chair, setting it beside hers so he could sit and talk. He fixed the fit of his glasses and placed a hand on her knee. "Artie… I'm not a little kid any more, I can help whatever it is you're dealing with––no matter how scary it may be. I've seen war. I've been scared for my life and I've been scared for yours––_let me help._"

Art placed her palms flat against the scarred and scratched wooden table attached to the machine, and shut her increasingly heavy eyelids. She rubbed her eyes and slouched back into her seat.

"I… hurt a lot of people. I _killed_ a lot of good men and women on the day of the Battle. I know it wasn't in my control and I _know_ that was not in my right mind, or _my_ mind at all, but _I_ still did it. My fingers still pulled the trigger, or tugged their head a bit too far to the side… And that keeps me awake at night. I dream of their horrified faces, of the feeling of being in my own body but not being myself… I worry that when I wake up, I'll be back to that version of me again. But, you see it's not _me_ that I'm worried about," she said, twisting around in her seat so her knees brushed against Kenneth's. He was watching her with an expression that tended towards sadness, a pinch between his brows, a frown on his lips, and a glossiness to his eyes. "I'm worried about Steve, because he and I both do the same thing––we say we're okay when we're not. And I _know_ what 'okay' looks like on his face… and what conflict looks like in his eyes, and that's what I see. I see _conflict_ and he won't tell me what's wrong."

Kenny took both of Art's hands and clasped them between his own, squeezing them and giving them a fond shake. He then raised them and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, an action that caused confusion to well up in her stomach. He shook his head and kissed her knuckles a second time; Kenny looked up and straight into her eyes, seriousness gleaming in the blues of his irises.

"Keeping it all bottled up inside isn't going to help anyone. Sooner or later, something's going to pop like a cork."

"I know. That's why I'm trying to get Steve to––"

"I'm talking about _you_, Artemesia," Kenneth said in a hushed tone, shaking her hands again. All sound died in Art's throat as she stared at him. He scooted towards the edge of his chair and leaned forward so he was closer to the exhausted woman before him. "You're so concerned for others, worrying about when they might break that you don't see that you're about to fracture and snap. I can't say that the dreams will leave easily. I can't say that they'll ever completely die. But you _need_ to start taking care of yourself. If you don't… you'll break, and not in a cathartic sort of way. In a way that will tear you and the ones you love apart. So, _please_, for the love of all things holy… take care of yourself, Artie."

Art stared at Kenneth for a long moment, feeling exhaustion heavily settle itself on her shoulders. She nodded and looked down at their hands, quietly marveling at how much comfort a simple gesture could bring. Kenneth released her hands and leaned forward to wind his arms around her; returning the embrace, Art shut her eyes and buried her face in his neck, feeling the threat of sleep approaching in the comfort of her brother's embrace.

OOOO

After sleeping on Kenneth's couch for two hours and not getting any sewing down, Art stopped at her preferred café on the way home, intent on getting the largest coffee they had. While waiting for the coffee to be brewed, she tapped her fingers against the counter top and gave a large yawn. Her day was going to be busier than she liked, but it kept her distracted and moving, which guaranteed a better night's sleep than what she'd been having. Her morning had been spent with carrying wood, painting walls, and toting trash bags. That evening she was supposed to stop by the Tower to pick up her staff, which had been fully modified and up to the Stark Standard, as Tony had called it. That left her with a couple hours to do whatever she wanted to do… and that would probably be going back home to take a shower. Leaning her cheek against her fist, Art's eyes drifted shut again, and the background noise of the café became lulling.

"Two small coffees, please," said a familiar voice. Art's eyes snapped open and, standing at the register, was none other than Matt Murdock. The lawyer was dressed in a smart looking suit, as he always was, and he had his cane tucked into his side as he slipped a hand into his pocket. He rooted out the perfect amount of money required to purchase the coffees––making her think that someone must have given him the sum of money before hand––and set it on the counter top.

"Matt!" she exclaimed, once the transaction had been made between customer and employee. His head turned in her direction, and a smile appeared on his face, he felt his way along the counter, and Art reached out a hand to place it on his shoulder once he was close enough. His smile grew, then, and he reached up to place his hand atop hers. With a smile appearing on her own face, she squeezed his shoulder; it felt like years since she'd seen him when it had, truly, only been something like a month. "It's so good to see you again!"

"Likewise. Though, in my case, it's good to _hear_ you again," he chuckled. He propped one arm up against the counter and leaned against it, smiling her way broadly. Art's eyes immediately flicked over him, checking for any sign of injury.

"How did you fare last month? During the Battle?" she inquired with concern. Matt's brows inched upwards and he recalled the day that she had asked about.

"Hell's Kitchen wasn't hit as bad as Midtown. Albeit, a lot of it was still hit pretty hard, but nothing as bad as, say, Grand Central."

"You weren't hurt though, were you?"

"Biggest injury _I_ sustained was a bruise to the knee when an explosion sent me to the floor," Matt explained. "I was lucky my friend and I had the day off work, otherwise we would have been in the thick of it. But, thank you, your concern is very thoughtful, Artemesia."

Art sighed and felt her concern become replaced with relief. "I'm glad to hear you weren't injured. I would've felt horrendous if you'd, say, broken a leg or… died… Oh, and, um… you've got a… smudge on your glasses," Art told him, noticing a thumb print on the lense. Matt reached up and pinched the temple of his glasses and removed them, extending them to her tentatively.

"Would you mind…?"

"Of course not." Art took the glasses and began to rub the hem of her shirt against the smudged red-tinted lense.

"What about you?" Matt asked as she held the glasses up to the light to see if she'd cleaned it off properly. She looked at him and lowered the glasses, which were completely clean now. It was the first time she'd gotten to see his eyes completely unobscured by glasses. They were a kind, soft brown, and they were directed at her, but just ever-so-slightly away from her face, like he was looking over her shoulder at something.

"I, uh… didn't make it out unscathed, but I'm okay now," Art told him truthfully. Her side wound was still sore and a bit scabbed over, but the stitches were gone and all the serious damage had healed. "Um… hold still, I'll put the glasses back on."

"Thank you." Matt remained perfectly still as she slipped the glasses back into place. "I hope it wasn't anything serious."

"Oh, um… it was just a scratch. It healed right up."

Matt could hear the beating of her heart pick up its pace. She'd told him a lie. Whatever had happened hadn't been 'just a scratch' as she'd said. There was a tinge of an iron scent to the air, which told him that whatever wound she'd sustained was just finishing its healing process. It had something to do with her side, judging by the way she was keeping all her weight on her right leg. But, as always, he wouldn't call her out on that lie. So he smiled instead.

"I'm very glad to hear that, Artemesia. It would have been a shame if we didn't have another one of these run ins. It's funny that this is how we always meet up," Matt chuckled. Before Art could wholeheartedly agree, a man with chin length blond hair appeared at Matt's side. He adjusted the strap of his leather messenger bag and let out a sigh. Like Matt, this man was also dressed in a suit, grey-blue in color, and Art could only guess that they were friends or, at the very least, co-workers. The overall look on the man's face suggested mild annoyance, and he looked about ready to express that annoyance.

"You do know we have a meeting in ten minutes, right? We've got five minutes to walk there, and three minutes to get up to the correct floor. So, I _really_ hope that this coffee can be brewed with the speed of the Avengers' quinjet, 'cause it needs to be done in _two minutes._ I mean, I know that I was the one who suggested this, but I make mistakes and this is definitely one of them. Two minutes, Matt, _two minutes_," the man stressed, gently whacking Matt on the arm. His eyes flicked towards Art then snapped back to Matt before flying straight back to the woman his friend had been conversing with a moment before. Still smiling, Matt chuckled and gestured in Art's direction with one of his hands.

"Foggy, I'd like you to meet the very lovely Artemesia Knoll. Artemesia, this is my closest friend and co-worker Foggy Nelson," he introduced, gesturing between them. Art smiled and extended a hand to Foggy, who was staring at her with wide eyes and a mouth that was hanging ajar. He just blinked at her for a moment before he swiftly raised his hand and slipped it into her own.

"Hi…" Foggy trailed off.

"It's nice to meet you," Art said with a hint of a chuckle. She was still getting used to people recognizing her as 'Lieutenant Liberty,' but Foggy's reaction––one of the more mild she'd encountered––had inspired her amusement. That is, if he _did_ recognize her as the famous Lieutenant Liberty. Her face wasn't exactly plastered on the front pages of every newspaper––history books, however, were a different story. Though, she couldn't imagine another reason for him to be reacting as such, unless he was a generally enthusiastic person.

"Yeah… yeah, it's uh… an absolute _pleasure_ to meet you, Miss Knoll!" Foggy said, clasping her hand between both of his, continuing their handshake. Art giggled quietly, her hand completely engulfed by the warmth of Foggy's palms.

"Foggy, I think it's probably about time you let her hand go," Matt told him quietly. It took a moment, but Foggy awkwardly chuckled and released Art's hand, running his own nervously against the sides of his legs. Just then, the cashier appeared and slid a large cup of coffee across the countertop. Art smiled at the haggard looking employee and took the cup.

"I'd love to stay and catch up––and get to know one another, too––but I have a pressing engagement with a friend who will, surely, send a personal assistant to retrieve me if I'm so much as three minutes late. Matt, it was great to see you again; and Foggy, it was lovely to meet you. I hope to see you both again very soon." Art placed a hand on Matt's shoulder with her parting remark: "Give me a call if you want to meet up for lunch again."

With that, Art departed the café, leaving Foggy to stare after her in stone-cold shock. He gestured to the door she'd just stepped through and then back at Matt. He repeated the action a couple of times before he whacked Matt on the arm again, staring at him with his mouth positively agape.

"If you could see, you'd see the incredulity on my face right now, Matthew Murdock!" Foggy hissed, gesturing to his face for his own benefit. Matt's lips quirked to the side in an amused smirk. "You never told me you were buddies with _Artemesia Knoll. _You _do_ know who she is, right? _Right?_ Like, I'm not going insane, and she _is_ who I think she is?"

"Yes, I know that she's Lieutenant Liberty," Matt confirmed easily, sounding at ease. Foggy threw his hands into the air and let out a high-pitched laugh. His hands fell to rest on the back of his head and he turned in a circle as he attempted to gather his thoughts, his little display earning a few weirded-out glances from fellow café patrons. Foggy stood directly in front of his friend and pointed at his chest, face becoming deadly serious.

"You're telling me… that you have gone on a lunch date with Lieutenant Liberty?"

"It wasn't a date. She's dating, I presume, Captain America."

"Oh, you know what I mean! How are you so… cool about this? How are you not fanboying over the fact that you're friends with one of America's first superheros, a woman that has inspired millions––if not billions––someone who, quite recently if you can recall, _saved all our asses from being murdered by aliens_," Foggy pointed out, hitting the countertop with the side of his hand for emphasis. His swearing earned tutting from a woman who was eating lunch with her middle school aged children. Foggy sent them an apologetic smile before returning to giving Matt his look of unadulterated incredulity. "Like… how have you not asked her about _everything_ that she's done? 'Cause I know you, Matt, and you've likely played the perfect gentleman, which means that you haven't asked any questions." Matt smiled and crossed his ankles, honestly enjoying the degree with which his friend was freaking out. He would admit, it was only after their last meeting that he'd pieced together who she truly was; it had all made sense when he thought about it. It also confirmed his earlier suspicion that the 'scratch' she'd received in the Battle was much, much more than a scratch.

"Because she's a person," Matt replied with a simple shrug. "She deserves to be treated like you or I. I imagine it's probably very tiring to be constantly treated like a celebrity, like a hero. I'd like to think that I offer her moments where she can be Artemesia Knoll instead of Lieutenant Liberty, where she doesn't have to worry about putting on a façade of any sort. All of my questions were about _her_, not her life as Lieutenant Liberty."

Foggy clucked his tongue and exhaled a sigh that was accompanied with a shake of his head. "Do you always have to be so goddamn noble all the time? It makes me look bad, and I'm a real good guy, Matt!" Matt grinned and reached out a hand that found its way to Foggy's shoulder. He gave it a squeeze and a friendly shake.

"That you are, Foggy. That you are."

Foggy finally cracked a smile and leaned his arms on the countertop, shaking his head as he thought about the bizarre turn the afternoon had took. Then, as he thought about Art who had been standing where he was moments before, he lightly knocked his fist against a sugar dispenser and shook his head again. "And she's _really_ attractive. I swear to god that you have some sort of… magnetism that draws you towards attractive women."

"Do I? Is she?" Matt chuckled with a charming smile. Foggy groaned and let his head loll backwards.

"Dammit, Murdock, don't act coy around me, it's weird."

OOOO

Art lingered in the doorway to the living room, ruffling her hair dry with a towel. Worry pinched her brows as she watched Steve, who was reading the book on the Howling Commandos she'd bought months ago. He read page after page with a furrow creasing his forehead and a frown tugging at his lips. There had been something… off about Steve in the week or two following Loki's return to Asgard. An air of conflict hovered around him, one that he never acknowledged, not even when she asked. His mood, which had been happier and easier post-Battle, had dampened again. He had stopped drawing. He began to spend more time training again. What bothered Art the most was the fact that, whenever she asked about how he was feeling, he brushed it off as 'fine,' flashed a smile, and returned to doing whatever he'd been doing. She didn't know _what_ was putting him off, what was bothering him, and she hated that, because of that, she couldn't help him.

"Hey, Steve?" Art asked, leaning up against the wall, head tilted to the side as she fluffed her hair. He looked up from the book with brows raised and eyes tired.

"Yeah?"

"Are… are you alright?"

"_Artie_––"

"Don't try and play it off, please, Steve," Art sighed, dropping her arm and towel. "You keep telling me you're okay, but you're clearly not." Steve turned his head to the side, hiding his face from her. The muscles in his jaw tensed and his fingers curled. "You can tell me whatever it is that's bothering you, I can help you with––"

"No, you can't," Steve snapped, head whipping back around. Art stared at him wide-eyed, not having expected the sharpness of his comment. His blue eyes hid behind their lids for a moment as he exhaled slowly, in an apparent attempts to calm himself. "Look… I'm _fine_. Tired, but fine. Aren't you headed to Stark's to get your staff?"

The abrupt change in subject threw Art off kilter, conversationally off-balance, and she cleared her throat in hopes of also clearing her head. She began to fold up her damp towel, looking down at the hardwood that paneled their apartment floor. "Um… yeah. I was… I was going to head out in a, uh… a few minutes, but I think I might just go now… you know, to… get back home… sooner…" Steve nodded once, in a very 'yes, ma'am' sort of manner and returned to the book, flipping a page silently. Startled by his curtness, at how Captain-like he'd become in that moment, Art instinctively straightened up and held her chin higher, as though being called to attention. Her hand even twitched, instinctively wanting to snap up to her forehead in a salute. But she curled her fingers and prevented the motion. Instead she returned the curt nod, though he wasn't looking to notice it; Art turned on her heel and made for their bedroom to pick out a more appropriate outfit for the evening.

When it came time for her to leave, Steve had retreated to the kitchen, where he had begun to take out ingredients for whatever it was he was making for dinner. His back was turned to her as he rummaged through the silverware door, drawing out a soup spoon and a spaghetti stArt slipped up behind him and wound her arms around his middle, cheek falling to rest against his shoulder blade. She held him like that for a moment, eyes closed, inhaling the smell of his prefered cologne, trying to pretend that their earlier conversation hadn't gone so awry. It was moments like that she typically cherished; the quiet ones where they didn't have to say anything to convey their affection. But this time around, the quiet that surrounded them clung to a note of previously addressed tension. Art sighed gently and nuzzled his shoulder with a pinch forming between her brows. Then, turning her head and stretching up onto her toes, she kissed his shoulder in means of goodbye and made for the door, unaware of the almost saddened-puppy-dog look that Steve sent in her wake.

OOOO

It was nice, Art decided, to be at Avengers Tower without being under the influence of some crazy-ass Asgardian. Guilt flared in her chest, however, when she stepped into the lobby, remembering the men she'd ordered to be killed when last she was there. When she arrived in the penthouse, which was still being reconstructed and was, hence, covered in plastic sheets, Art nervously twisted her fingers around. She was unsure if Tony had been alerted to her presence in the building yet, and she appeared to be alone in the front room.

"_Good afternoon, Miss Knoll. Mr. Stark has been alerted of your arrival, and will be out to meet you shortly,_" intoned Jarvis. Art looked up at the ceiling, recalling the A.I. system from the last time she was there.

"Um… thank you… Jarvis, is it?" Art asked, feeling mildly awkward speaking to a computer system. Artificial Intelligence systems weren't common, at least not from what she'd encountered thus far, and she was unsure if there were specific protocols––such as command phrases and whatnot––that she should follow.

"_Yes, Miss._"

"Jarvis then. I… I'd like to apologize for, you know… shooting at you last time I was here."

"_It's quite alright, Miss. You were not yourself when we last encountered one another,_" Jarvis dismissed. The voice was quite pleasant, a calming, lulling tenor that sounded just as loud and natural as any real person.

"Jarvis is a strong fella, he can withstand _everything_," Tony complimented, patting the wall, as though he were patting someone on the shoulder. The billionaire smiled at Art as he trotted down a small set of stairs. "Hope you didn't try and use my security code in the elevator. I changed it."

"I had no need, I was let up with the guest code," Art said. A tight smile had appeared on her face when he'd referenced the whole security code situation. There was a lot about that day she didn't want to recall. Tony chuckled and gestured to the bar.

"Want a drink? Beer? Martini?"

"I trust you've got good whiskey?" Tony snapped, grinned, and pointed at her, slipping behind the bar with a jaunty step.

"You know I do. Is it true you can't get drunk anymore?" he inquired curiously, as he produced two tumblers, a decanter, and a bucket of ice. Art joined him at the bar, leaning both forearms against its top.

"Very true. Ask Clint if you don't believe me––Steve and I drank him under the table and practically had to carry him home. We can't get drunk, but we can still feel the buzz. You know, that warm, light feeling you get after two or three drinks; it doesn't last long, what with the fact our metabolism burns four times faster than a normal person's," Art explained as Tony fixed her drink. Tony clucked his tongue and winced, as though the information that she'd just given him physically pained him.

"Well, that sucks," Tony told her, handing her a glass before he began to fill his own. "You remember the last time you were drunk?" Art took a sip of the whiskey and nodded, a smirk beginning to crawl across her face. "Care to share? We can walk and talk." Tony nodded for her to follow him, and she shoved one hand into the pocket of the jeans she'd procured a couple of weeks ago. She was trying to branch out of the forties influenced fashion, thinking it might help her become even better integrated with modern society.

"It was, uh, nineteen-forty… four I want to say, about a year before Steve and I went into the ice. The lads––the Commandos, I mean––and I had a favorite bar in London that we stopped by whenever we got the chance. We'd just come back from a mission, were absolutely _exhausted_, and were ready to just have a night of fun. We decided to play a drinking game, you know, to lift the mood. By the end of the night, Dugan was trying to toss his bowler hat like a, uh, frisbee, Gabe was speaking in broken french, and Falsworth was red in the face. Bucky had abstained from most of the drinking, figuring that if all of us got drunk, we'd need more than just Steve to get us all home. I think I was the worst off of everyone. Bucky didn't trust me to walk, mostly because the moment I stood I nearly fell over. It was like I had my own force of gravity that was working against me. So, he picked me up, slung me over his shoulder, and carried me all the way to the car and from the car to our tent. I giggled the entire time and looked like a right idiot. But it was a lot of fun––I was pretty good at drinking games."

"You… _Lieutenant Liberty_… were so drunk you couldn't _walk?_" Tony asked incredulously. He snorted and raised his glass to his lips. "That's not something I'd ever expected to hear." Art chuckled and siped at her drink, a smirk apparent on her lips the entire time.

"I was in the military, Tony. Besides, us superheros are people too," she reminded, nudging him gently with her elbow. "You of all people should know that." Tony just hummed as he tapped out a code on a panel that locked the door to his personal lab. He gestured her to step inside and followed her in once she did. "So have you fixed my staff up all fancy-like?"

"More or less, yeah. Just added some bells and whistles and all that jazz. It's, uh, sitting on that workbench over there," Tony said, gesturing to a table on the other side of the room. Art approached said workbench, and resisted the urge to snort, scoff, and groan. Sitting on the table was a box wrapped in wrapping paper––American flag wrapping paper to be exact. She set her drink down and took the box in both hands and held it up so Tony could see it. "You said I couldn't put a flag extension on it, so I thought this was the next best thing."

Art snickered to herself and tore at the paper, revealing a metal case inside. She flicked either latch that was fixed to its side and opened it to find the staff, completely shrunk down, neatly nestled in a sea of grey foam. She removed it from its resting spot and pressed the rectangular button, which brought the staff to its full length. The middle of the staff, where her fingers were curled around, was now covered in hard black plastic, gently molded into the rise and fall of where her fingers would sit. She noticed a third button had been installed, just above the circular button; this one was square shaped and blue in color. In fact, the other two buttons had been colored as well––the rectangle was red, and the circle was white. Of course.

"Mind telling me what you did to spiff this thing up?" Art asked.

"Like I said, I thought that it could use something… _more_. I had mentioned I'd like to make it electrified, so that's what I did. That blue button will activate the electricity, just make sure you don't accidently whack yourself with either end of it. The grip is insulated, so you don't have to worry 'bout that. Other than that, it's the same weapon you held the first time. Wanna give it a test drive? Or a, uh, test wave? Or… would it be a, uh… _swinging_ motion––do you want to test it out?"

Art laughed at his struggle for words and shrank it down to its smallest form. One half of the room was cleared out into what she assumed was the testing area. There were mats on the floor, grey in color, and she was willing to bet that the wall had been repaired many times over. She shrugged her jacket off and placed it on a nearby table, leaving her in just a set of jeans and a tank top. She tucked the staff into her back pocket and rubbed her tentative hands together, thinking up a scenario in her head to assist in her test. Art had started to realize it was easier for her to train if she had a goal or situation in mind. It helped keep her on track and prevented her from getting too distracted. Just as she was about to swing her hand back and grab the staff, music began to play over the speakers. Looking over her shoulder, she spotted Tony innocently holding up a small remote, which like activated his choice in music. It was rock of some sort, she thought; and, she had to say, she thought she like it.

Hand flying to her back pocket, Art grabbed the staff and slipped her thumb over the rectangular button, extending the staff on either end. The movement was smooth and easy. She swung it horizontally through the air with a whoosh, spinning around as she inched her finger over the circular button. With a quick press, half of the staff's length disappeared and she maneuvered it like a baseball bat, testing the way it swung. After testing its range of motion at half and full length, she held it out as far away from her body as possible and pressed the new button, the square one. Immediately, the metal began to hum quietly, now charged with electricity. Carefully and slowly, Art began to twirl it. She was wary of not touching any of the metal, aware that she'd probably zap herself right off her feet.

"How strong is it when electrified?" Art asked, eyes intently trained on her hands as she swung the staff through the air in a smooth, graceful arc. Tony pulled a smart look, clearly intent on telling her everything, but then appeared to think better of it. He was well aware Artie didn't do well with science, like she'd mentioned back on the Helicarrier.

"It could knock a full grown man on his ass and maybe send him flying if he weighs the right amount," he finally said after a moment's pause. Art sent him a thankful look and shortened the staff to half length as she continued to slowly test out movements. "I'd also ask that, when it's electrified, you keep that away from me when I'm in the Iron Man suit. 'Cause, you know, metal and electricity don't exactly mix that well."

"Sure thing." Art clicked the electricity off and shrank it down to its smallest form. She gestured up at the ceiling, brows creased with curiosity. "What's the band you're playing?"

"Queen. They're a seventies rock band. You like?"

"I do."

A smile stretched itself across Tony's face, the sort of look a proud parent gave their child. He placed a hand over his heart and pretended to look nostalgic. Art had pre-emptively fixed him with a look, knowing some sort of playful jab was headed her way. "Look at you, getting with the times. An oldie learning to love the oldies. It brings a tear to my eye."

"Hardy-har," Art deadpanned. Tony snickered and smiled, pointing her way as he hopped up to sit on one of the work benches.

"I'll download their albums onto your new phone. Which, by the way, I have right here; it's like Christmas in July for you. Except for the fact that it's not July." Tony tugged what people had deemed a 'smart phone' and began to tap away at the screen, which left Art with a puzzled expression on her face.

"My… my new phone?" she asked. "I already have one, you know that."

"Uh, yeah, but that thing's a technological dinosaur; barely anyone uses phones that flip open anymore. Besides, you're branching out, Artie-Tartie. You're wearing jeans instead of a skirt, you're falling in love with bands ahead of your time, and you're more comfortable in the world around you. Your phone should reflect that," Tony informed her, swiping a finger across the phone's touch screen. Art laughed incredulously as she crossed the lab to put her staff away. She'd only just _barely_ gotten used to the cell phone that she had been using, and that still didn't make her an expert in any form of the word. She still struggled to hit the right keys and with the concept that phones were actually cordless.

"I can barely use a television's remote control without looking at the keys for a good solid minute. What makes you think that I could use that?" she inquired. Tony looked up at her and crossed the room to where she stood; he proffered her the phone and met her gaze without a hint of a tease on his face. It was a rare moment where Art realized he was being totally and utterly serious towards her. She'd had few such encounters with him, always expecting him to call her some ridiculous nickname or take a jab at her inability to do something.

"Call it blind faith," Tony told her in an equally serious tone. The corner of Art's mouth twitched upwards briefly, and she reached out and took hold of the rectangle of glass and metal that was, apparently, a phone. She slipped it into her back pocket after turning it around and around in her hands for a minute. "Now, do you have dinner plans with the Capsicle, or would you be up to ordering pizza and regaling me with more stories of drunk Lieutenant Liberty while Queen plays in the background?"

Art gave the question some serious thought. If she went home, she'd likely only be met with awkward silence and tense attempts at keeping up appearances when she knew that something was up with Steve. Deep in the pit of her stomach, a sharp twist told her that it wasn't an evening to try and deal with that. Like Kenny had said, there was only so much she could take before something popped like a cork. Besides, with Steve in the state he was in, it wasn't likely he'd realize she was gone all evening, right? So, with a smile beginning to crawl across her lips, Art accepted the offer. A twinge of guilt appeared at the back of her head, but the soldier forced herself to ignore it, drowning it in a gulp of whiskey and the memories of drinking with the best men she'd ever known.

_**Afterword:**_ _**And there we have it. A bit of a roller coaster, this one is. A lot of jumping around from here to there, but this chapter is sort of a montage-y filler that's leading up to what'll lead into the first mini-adventure-thing that Art endeavours to go on in between Avengers and Cap. America: Winter Soldier. I wanted to get this up sooner, but I've just gotten settled into school and I ended up doing a lot of running around to get supplies and what not. Anyway, I hope you guys liked the sorta-kinda introduction to the tension that's forming between Steve and Artie right now.**_

_**Review Replies!**_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and hope you enjoyed this one just as much! Thanks again!_

**darck ben:** _I've considered doing Thor: the Dark World as a side story, one that I just do for fun that may, or may not, end up canonically relevant to this story. I'm still not sure if I will, but I've got ideas in case I do. But Artie __**will**_ _be meeting those from Agents of SHIELD. I've got some good ideas for that. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _I hope that you don't mind the bit of a wait you had to get this chapter; but I've finally managed to get it completed and hope you enjoyed reading. Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _I'm happy you enjoyed the previous chapter and hope that you enjoyed this one as well; thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _Here's more! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I'm glad that the last chapter didn't seem too summary-y and that I filled in the proper amount of detail to make it work :) The staff will probably be sticking around, though it won't be her primary weapon, 'cause her thing is her guns. I hope that you liked Matt's little reappearance and Foggy's introduction. Artie will likely run into them again, which'll be great fun. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LeopardFeather:** _I'm glad that you like the staff idea! It was kinda an undeveloped idea at first, but I'm very happy that it's come off well. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _The staff will probably be sticking around. Like you said, she's got to run out of ammo some time, and her knife is likely bound to get knocked out of her hand too. She'll probably get some training sessions in with Nat before Winter Soldier, so that'll be fun; see them pitted against each other in a training session will be fun. Last chapter was definitely a transition chapter, and now things are gonna start swinging a bit. Artie's definitely gonna start getting caught up on movies, so the attempts at referencing will be mighty. Who knows, maybe there'll be some Jaws references at some point. Maybe some Ferris Bueller. Matt and Foggy have appeared! Foggy is a tricky one to write… he's got such a specific voice and I don't think I managed to capture it all that well. I'm glad to hear that you've got a name for your sequel! I finally got a proper name for the next installment of this one and have the cover made and ready to go. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**The Redshirt who Lived:** _I'm glad you like the staff! It'll be sticking around. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**starspangledpumpkin:** _The second button (the circular one) shortens the staff's length by half. And the newest button (the square) electrifies the metal. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _I'm very glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and are vying for her new weapon! I hope you enjoyed the new chap; thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _It took forever to figure out what her 'symbol' would be, and even now, it may change should I find something better. But Woman with a Flagpole seems a bit more… fitting, no? xD I actually hadn't been adamant on electrifying the staff until you mentioned what it could potentially do to Tony's suit/Bucky's arm. That sort of solidified it, and it gives me a bit more hope that the staff will work out. Rachel will definitely show back up (next chapter, if I remember) and I do think that her encounter with Art has changed her perspective on a lot of things. Who knows, maybe she'll be a future Avenger herself. As you could see in this chapter, Art has definitely been on a campaign to help out everyone she can. Helping out because she wants to, because it's right, and because it's distracting her. But she, of course, has the best intentions and will probably continue to help out till someone (*cough* Kenny *cough*) makes her stop. If you're feeling chuffed, I'm feeling super chuffed! I hope that you enjoyed the chapter, I always love reading what you think! Thanks again!_

**Guest:** _Your review made me very, very, very happy! I always worry that I don't successfully transition my stories from original to sequel; to hear that you think that I've done that appropriately makes me very, very happy! I've put a lot of work into these stories and I'm happy that it's paying off. I really do try and keep all of the canon characters in character and mold my OC around __**them**_ _instead of the other way around. Super glad that the whole 'saying goodbye to Loki' scene was properly blunt, since there wasn't really much I could do with it otherwise. That's what the end of the Avengers sort of needs. Just… that was that and everyone continued forward. Don't worry, you aren't rushing anything from WS, since I've got almost all of it already planned out! I don't plan on having Artie feel anything negative towards Sharon, since I, personally, find her a perfectly fine character. I figured that since she is there to keep an eye out on Steve (and, in this case, Artie as well) she'd be kind enough to both of them. And when I initially watched the movie, I got the impression that she wasn't really interested in Steve in a romantic sense, so that'll probably carry over into the story. Anyway, thank you again for your lovely, lovely review, and I hope you enjoyed the new chapter!_

**Codename Alexis:** _I'm very glad you like the staff! And don't worry, there won't be any love triangles here. Matt, as he mentioned in this chapter, is just happy to give Art a sense of normality; they shall purely remain friends, I assure you. And even if he did end up fancying her, Artie would have to respectfully turn him down since she loves Steve. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**Jo:** _I love the Thor movies because we do get to see that Thor isn't as pig-headed as some people make him out to be; that he doesn't always shout his words in confusion and that he has some pretty legit intelligence, which is what has made him a great warrior. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**LaughingLioness:** _I'm glad that you've enjoyed the stories thus far! We've still got a while to go before it all truly ends, so I hope you'll continue enjoying reading what I enjoy writing till we get to that point. Thanks again; hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

**88dragon06:** _I have a number of chapters I'd like to get out that'll take place before the Winter Soldier. We still need to see Steve and Artie go out on a date, go out on some missions, and see their move to Washington D.C. I've also got a couple of things I've got tucked up my sleeve that I'm gonna get out there. The staff is definitely gonna be a backup weapon sort of thing––her primary will continue to be what she's been using. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again! (and, p.s. thank you, the move went very, very well!)_

_**And thank you to those who have read/added this story to their favorites/follows; it means a lot!**_

_**And that's it for now. Next chapter should be up fairly soon, but I can't promise much since I've got school work that needs to be done. I have to cram an entire semester of work into seven weeks. I cannot tell you the stress that comes with that, but writing has been helping me keep it under control. I hope that you all enjoyed the chapter; thanks again, you guys, you rock!  
~Mary**_


	22. The Cork

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

22\. The Cork

A painful stinging bloomed in the center of Art's stomach as she found herself plummeting through the air and towards the ground. Her back collided with the training mats with a dulled _thwack_ and all the air swept from her lungs at the impact. A groan escaped her lips once she'd regained her breath, and her eyes scrunched shut, not in pain, but in annoyance. It was the fourth or fifth time she'd been taken down this training session; she really wasn't on top of her game. She lay there for a moment, listening to the blood rushing in her ears.

"You're not focused today," Natasha informed from above her. Art's eyes flicked open and, with a sigh, she took the hand the red haired woman had proffered. She stood and rubbed at her stomach, where Natasha had landed a particularly powerful kick. They'd taken to being training partners whenever the other was available, finding it useful to exercise their hand-to-hand combat skills with one another. That, and she knew Natasha wouldn't hold back, unlike Steve; despite what he said, he clearly still had reservations in regards to how he trained with her.

It was very evident how much the times in which they'd been raised in affected their fighting styles. Art was still very much rooted in what she'd learned back in the day; a more masculine––for lack of a better word––fighting. It was apparent in the way her deflecting, dodging, and punching techniques were heavily influenced by the boxing lessons Bucky had given her. Sometimes she was a bit stiff. She wouldn't move her hips in quite the right way or her shoulders would be too locked in one position. Art figured that it was a habit she'd picked up when she'd been trying to hide her identity: keep the feminine sway of the hips under wraps, keep the shoulders slightly hunched to hide her chest, don't let them know you're a woman. Natasha, on the other hand, fought and moved in a way that fully accepted and utilized her femininity––again, for lack of a better word. Her movements were more fluid, and, dare it be said, more graceful. That was something that Natasha was aiming to help Art with. She wanted to help her break out of that militaristic style, expand what she knew.

"I know, I know…" Art sighed begrudgingly. She reached up to fix her ponytail, which gave Natasha an opportunity to give her a swift once-over. Natasha could only assume that she was being distracted by whatever it was going on between her and Rogers. Art had spoken of it briefly but hadn't brought it up since; but Natasha could only guess that whatever it was, was getting progressively worse. She made this assumption on the fact that each time she saw Art, the soldier was just a fraction more tense, an inch closer to snapping in some way or another.

"We'll take it a bit easier, then." Natasha paced back a couple steps to put a bit of distance between them. She swept some strands of hair off her sweaty neck and then dropped into a neutral position. Shutting her eyes, Art took a deep breath and then squared her shoulders in preparation for the upcoming fight. Then, the muscles in her shoulders tensed just a bit more than they should have. Natasha nodded her way. "Too tense. Loosen up." Her shoulders dropped and her muscles relaxed just a fraction too much. Natasha opened her mouth to say something, but it wasn't her voice that swept through the air.

"_Kensington! You're too loose," Bucky admonished, dropping out of his boxer's position. He gestured to her arms and shoulders, face composed in a look that edged towards annoyance. "I've told you before that you don't tighten up enough. If you stay that loose, look at what'll happen." With his words being his only warning, his fist flew forward and met her shoulder, which jolted backwards and shook her stance. Bucky then batted her arms down in one fell move, which left her completely open for attack. To further his point, he used her surprised and distracted state to sweep her feet out from under her. With an audible 'oof,' Art hit the ground and wound both arms around her head._

"_Dammit…" she ground out, resisting the urge to curl up in a frustrated and embarrassed ball. She and Bucky had been sparring for almost an hour and that aspect of her fighting stance hadn't gotten any better. She was already considerably smaller––in stature and height––than everyone else in the division, and her inability to properly fight was only more cause for teasing. She'd already earned the nickname 'Pretty Boy,' or 'Sissy Boy.' The first two words were interchangeable amongst those that would tease her. She could handle Pretty Boy better than Sissy Boy––the first was used by Bucky endearingly. The second just irked her. At least she could shoot a gun properly, now––there was no room for bullying there anymore._

_Bucky crouched down beside her, forearms braced against his knees, and leaned over her ever-so-slightly. A tiny smile quirked up either corner of his mouth. "You can do it, Artie, you've just gotta get into the habit of keeping a bit of tension in your muscles. Not a lot of it, mind you, that's when you break bone. Come on, get back up, we'll go another round." Art let Bucky pull her to her feet, well aware that her last clean undershirt was now smudged with dirt and grass stains. The two silently squared off as Art tried to pull her shoulders into the correct positioning; she used Bucky's face as a guide, watching as small winces would twitch his muscles or how his lips trembled when she did something right. After another silent moment, in which the cool wind brushed between them, Bucky smirked and said, "C'mon, Sissy Boy, let's see what you can do."_

_Art felt the muscles in her arms shift. Tense in annoyance of the name that he knew she hated. Then, with a growing smirk, Bucky swung at her… _

Art shifted into the comfortable positioning she'd learned all those years ago. Her eyes were softly focused on the wall just behind Natasha's head. She was still half caught up in memories of the past, half distracted as Natasha made her first move. The minute that the former assassin lunged at her, a mechanical instinct kicked in that sent her into action. It was the same click that she'd felt when Tony had approached her with the syringe back on the helicarrier. It was as though someone had pushed two matching puzzle pieces together. She moved without thinking, driven to perform in a cold, unemotional, unreactive way.

Natasha's leg whipped outward and upward, her goal to knock her foot against the side of Art's head. But with eyes still vaguely unfocused, her hand shot up and grabbed hold of the assassin's ankle. She held it aloft there, inches away from the left side of her skull. Natasha looked surprised that Art had acted so sharply whilst looking so out of it. Then Art's gaze sharpened acutely and focused in on Natasha's face. Her expression was just as cold and unemotional as the way she was thinking. With a simple flick of her wrist, Art threw Natasha's leg to the side, sending the redhead off balance. Art's eyes focused in on the way her opponent's footing wobbled––she saw an opportunity. The soldier slipped her foot forward to trip Natasha up, but the assassin's senses were acute and she expected a next attack. So her balance suddenly settled and one of her feet shot out backwards and hit Art straight in the stomach.

Art curled in on herself and let herself fall onto her backside. She used the momentum of the kick to roll backwards and come back up in a crouch. The two women faced off against each other for a quiet moment, like two predators sizing up their attacker. A smirk crawled up one corner of Natasha's mouth. _This_ was the fight she was looking for. Art's head tilted to the side and processed the situation. Natasha had attacked first, so the likelihood of her making the second attack was slim; _Art_ would have to instigate the next one. Natasha expected her to be distracted in some capacity… She wouldn't be expecting what was about to come next.

Shifting all her weight onto the balls of her feet, Art launched herself forward and tackled Natasha to the floor, her shoulder connecting with the other woman's stomach. She listened as breath whooshed from Nat's lungs. Art immediately shifted forward till she straddled Natasha's hips and barred one arm across her collarbones. Her other arm rose sharply and tightly curled her fingers. The look on Natasha's face clearly said she expected Art to relent, to let the fight end. But Art's fist snapped forward, intent on meeting the other woman's nose. With her legendary reflexes, Natasha caught Art's fist, her muscles shaking as the soldier's super strength pushed into play.

"Artie, I think we can stop now," Natasha hissed out, feeling Art leaning her weight on the arm pressed across her collarbones. Art didn't respond, she simply pressed harder, a cold look in her eyes. "_Artemesia!_" The back of Natasha's hand brushed her cheek and she could feel herself losing the fight to keep the fist away from her face. Then, something in Artemesia's eyes shifted, and her eyebrows scrunched together. The weight on Natasha's collarbones lightened, and Art slowly withdrew her fist. She sat back on her heels and then rose to her feet looking troubled for a fleeting moment. Clearing her throat, she extended her hand to Natasha.

"Sorry about that… I… don't know what came over me," Art apologized, pulling Natasha to her feet. The assassin cleared her throat and massaged her fingers over the spot Art's forearm had been pressed. Her skin was beginning to turn pink.

"Don't worry about it. It was a good fight."

"Hardly a fight… just a short bit of sparring…"

Art turned away with both her hands placed on her hips, staring down at her feet. There was one other time that she'd felt the way she'd just had. Like when Tony approached her with the syringe… that moment still gave her pause. She had reacted so mechanically. Like she had been programmed to react as instantaneously as she had. Whatever caused her to feel that was was still shrouded in mystery; it made her stomach feel unsettled. Both occurrences left her feeling as though she was no longer in control of her body. It eerily reminded her of being under Loki's control. Art let her head loll backwards as a sigh slipped out of her throat.

"It's gotta be stress…" she murmured to herself, nose scrunching up. "It's gotta be…"

OOOO

When Art returned home, she hitched her jacket on the coat hook by the door and shook her hair out of its ponytail. It was round about seven o'clock. She'd left S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters around six and took the long way home. She walked down streets she still had memorized and passed shops that weren't what they used to be. The walk had been calming and relaxing, which was exactly what she'd needed after sparring with Natasha. A residual ache lived in most of her limbs, but it faded a fraction with each passing minute. The apartment was quiet aside from the lingering notes of a record Steve had put on the record player in the corner of the room. Steve was seated on the couch with a book limply resting in his lap, eyes focused fuzzily on a certain spot on the wall.

"Have a fun evening?" Steve asked, voice decidedly modulated voice. Art, who had been in the process of tugging off one of her shoes, paused and looked across the room at him. He had shut his book and was now looking at her instead of the wall, gaze stronger than it had been moments of before. Art cleared her throat and tugged her shoes off, eyes cast down at the floor. Their conversations as of late hadn't held much substance and had become increasingly tense. She'd stopped asking him if he was okay, as he'd stopped answering when she'd asked.

"It was, uh, interesting. Got some good training with Natasha in," Art told him, moving into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. As she turned on the tap and slipped a cup underneath the flowing water, Art heard Steve snort indelicately from the living room.

"I thought you would've been with Tony, or that Matt fella you've told me about."

Art brought the glass to her lips but didn't let any water pass between them. There was something in Steve's tone that was uncharacteristically biting. Flat, but nippy none the less. He'd entered the kitchen, and, by the sound of it, he had moved to lean up against the wall behind her. The water glass was set down beside the sink and Art turned it round and round, eyes focused on the ring of condensation it had left behind. She didn't want to say Steve was suspicious anything was happening between her or either of the men; she also wanted to say that he wasn't _jealous_, but it could be a possibility. Steve could bottle up emotions with all the grace of a professional actor. Such was the reason she'd been having such a hard time figuring out what was wrong with him.

"I only go to visit Tony when the staff is acting up. I usually stick around till he's done repairing it, you know that," she reminded. Steve shifted against the wall. Art sighed quietly and stopped spinning the glass. "You _do_ remember that I told you that, right?"

"Not particularly, no…"

"Or that I've been helping Matt––and Foggy––repair their apartments, which were damaged in the Battle? Matt's blind––if you bothered to remember––and can't do it himself. And Foggy, bless him, probably can't properly fix a faucet for the life of him. I saw a lot of rubber bands and duct tape when I was there…" The tone of Art's voice had become decidedly peeved, now that she realized that, as of late, Steve's lack of replying was because he'd taken to ignoring her. They typically prided themselves on communication skills, which they'd strengthened and maintained throughout war time, but it would appear that it was all falling lax now. Turning around and placing both hands on the flare of her hips, Art faced Steve from across the small kitchen. He was leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed, his chin ducked, and his eyes intently trained on her. Art's eyes crinkled at the corners in an appraising manner. "Is that _really_ what you've been upset about, Steve? Me spending time with other people? Because that sounds a bit… _petty_, don't you think?"

Steve's blue irises became hidden by his eyelids as they shut. A sigh escaped his lips and the muscles in his jaw visibly flexed. "That's not why I'm upset."

"Oh, so you _finally_ admit you're upset?" Art prodded, leaning forward a bit. Steve's response was to avert his eyes and purse his lips. "Back to the silence, again, it would seem… Look, Steve, why don't you just _tell me_ what's bothering you?" Art crossed the room and stopped when she stood the length of the kitchen table away from him. She placed her hands on the back of a chair, expression becoming softer and more pleading. "_Please_… Just…"

"Look, you can't help!" Steve suddenly snapped, head whipping back to face forward. His expression was taut and his shoulders were tense. The tone of his voice had become Captain-like. "It's got nothing to do with you… hanging out with Stark or anyone else, it's just…" He sighed heavily and looked down at his feet. "You can't help."

"Well, we don't know if I can if you don't tell me what's wrong," Art stressed gently.

"Could we just drop it?"

"_No_," Art stated firmly and quickly. Her denial had clashed with his words. When Steve looked back up, he found that Art was giving him a tight lipped, tense jawed look, complete with a glare. Her fingers had curled tightly around the top of the kitchen chair, the wood creaking slightly under her grip. They stared at one another for a moment as the air in the kitchen changed. It had gone from uncomfortable to tense in the span of a few seconds. "No, we can't drop it. We can't drop it because you've been like this for _weeks_ and it's not fair. It's not fair to _me_ because I feel _terrible_ that I haven't been able to help you; but most of all, it's not fair to _you_. By keeping all of your emotions all bottled up, you're hurting yourself."

"And you haven't done that before?" Steve deadpanned. Art narrowed her eyes at him from across the table as she recalled the time in which they'd mourned for Bucky.

"For god's sake, just tell me what's bothering you."

"I'm telling you, Artemesia, you won't be able to help." The use of her full name brought the tone of the conversation to another level of tenseness. Art snorted and her fingers curled around the back of the chair a fraction tighter.

"Oh, really, now?"

"_Yes_."

"Why don't you tell me and I can be the judge of that."

"Artemesia, _drop it_."

"No, _Stephen,_ I don't think I will!" Art stressed his full first name, leaning over the chair as Steve stood away from the wall. Her voice was getting louder and more annoyed, edging on angry. Steve's hands curled into fists at his sides and his eyes squeezed shut.

"Do you _have_ to be so stubborn all the time?"

Art scoffed and looked around the room with an incredulous expression on her face."Since when did this become about me!?"

"Since you decided to butt-in on something that isn't your business!" Steve's voice was rising now, becoming steadily more loud.

"_It's my business if it concerns the man that I love!_"

"Do you _really_ need to know _that_ badly!?"

"Yes! I do!"  
"_Fine!_" Steve lurched a step forward and brought both hands down hard on the table so both soldiers were leaning towards one another. The wood splintered beneath his palms as the wooden tabletop gave way slightly. "_I don't know who I'm supposed to be!_"

Art stared at him wide-eyed. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw was tense, chest heaving as he came down from the adrenaline high caused by expelling his shouted words. Art's grip on the back of the chair loosened and she leaned straightened up. 'I don't know who I'm supposed to be.' The words stuck to the forefront of Art's mind as she stared at the blond man who stood across the table from her.

"Don't… don't know who you're supposed to be?" she asked, voice drastically more quiet than when she'd last spoken. Steve pushed away from the table, both hands rising to cover his face. He then tore them away, nodded sharply and placed both hands on his hips.

"Yeah. I don't know who I'm supposed to be. I've been warring with myself for _days_ on end about it. I went into the ice as Captain America. I woke up in this world as Steve Rogers. Then, all of a sudden, this world, this _brand new, modern world_ that I struggled to call home needed me to become Captain America again… _that_ was when I felt at home… a-and I have to wonder, if that's who I'm truly supposed to be. Captain America. What if there's no place for a man like Steve Rogers anymore?" Steve questioned in a low, strained voice as he paced back and forth. Art watched him intently, her expression guarded and unreadable. He glanced up to meet her gaze with troubled eyes. "What if I'm _only_ supposed to be Captain America now?"

Art flexed the muscles in her jaw and cleared her throat and her expression. "Only supposed to be Captain America?" she asked in a controlled voice.

"Yes."

"For _god's sake,_ Steve, you don't always have to be Captain America!" Art exclaimed, resisting the urge to throw her hands in the air. She leaned forward again, this time bracing her hands on the tabletop, fixing him with a serious look. "You are not obligated to be Captain America every waking moment of your life."

Steve stopped pacing and met her gaze with his commander's mask firmly and easily back in place. "What if I am? I have always had to be Captain America; I've always had to be this… this _symbol_. This… _figure _that people look up to, and it's a figure that has to be upheld to the standard that time has made for it," Steve shot back, face serious, tone commanding. Art threw her hands in the air and let out a frustrated growl.

"Oh, don't use the commander tone with me! You don't _have_ to! You _really_ don't have to. I'll listen to whatever you have to say, but you don't have to put on the Captain's voice to make me listen. And I'll tell you something else, _Steven Grant Rogers_… before there was Captain America, the symbol of hope, the man who stood up for the underdogs, the protector of America––there was Steve Rogers, the kid from Brooklyn who never backed down from a fight, who didn't care about what or who was pitted against him, the man who has become the _love of my life_…" Art shook her head and ran her hands over her face, clenching her jaw. "And you'll always be him, always be _yourself_. Do you remember what you said to me just before the Battle of New York? 'We're as much Captain America and Lieutenant Liberty as we are Steve Rogers and Artemesia Knoll.' Why don't you just consider your own words for a moment? You don't have to… you don't always have to be Captain America––until the world needs him again... you can just be _Steve_." Steve bit the insides of his cheeks and grabbed onto the back of the kitchen chair. He looked down at his hands and completely avoided Art's gaze.

"It's like I said before––you can't help. You don't understand what it's like," he finally said. A deadly silence filled the room as Art stared at him with cold disbelief. Her eyes were wide, her lips were parted, and her brows pinched. She laughed humorlessly and crossed her arms over her chest, which was rising and falling with the increase of anger she felt building up.

"Yeah… yeah, you're right, Steve, I don't know what it's like to have… woken up in a modern world to discover I'm revered as an American hero––a _superhero_ no less. I have _no idea_ what it's like to realize that there's a standard I'm supposed to uphold, a standard––by the way––that _I never asked to be held up to_. I don't understand what it's like to have the responsibility of being the superhero that people expect me to be." Her tone was heavy with angry sarcasm, and Steve slowly looked up to meet her gaze, which was narrowed and blatantly pissed-off. "I don't know what it's like to have a struggle about my sense of self, because it's not like I've ever been in _that_ situation before… not like I've changed my own identity…" Art shook her head and walked to the coat hooks by the door. She grabbed her coat and shrugged it on before slipping her feet into her boots. Steve had followed her as far as the kitchen door, but stood there, watching. "But, if you're _so_ intent on you always being Captain America," she turned to face him, "then I guess I'll just always have to be Lieutenant Liberty." Art snapped to attention with an impassive look on her face. Her hand snapped up to her forehead in a textbook perfect salute, that she performed with a sharp swipe. "Good night, _Captain._" And with that, she performed a perfect turn, opened the door and walked right out.

OOOO

Art slammed the empty tumbler down on the bar top, making a face as the whiskey lingered inside her mouth and burned at the back of her throat. The bartender wordlessly picked up the glass and held it aloft for a moment, silently asking if she wanted more. Art nodded her confirmation and ran a hand across her face. Clint took another sip of his beer and watched as his friend was given another glass of hard alcohol. She raised it to her lips, froze there for a second and then set the glass back down with a loud 'clunk.' Her head dropped into the cradle of both her hands and a strangled sounding groan escaped her lips. Art's solution to handling the utter frustration and genuine anger that her and Steve's argument had caused, was to call Clint, go to a bar, and drown her frustrations in alcohol. Clint, who had inquired why she so desperately needed to down as many drinks as she could, had listened as she recounted the events of the last few weeks.

"I'm guessing that won't be your last?" Clint asked, eyeing her glass. Art made another groaning sound as a response; Clint then turned to the bartender, made a drinking motion and mouthed 'water.' She may not be able to get drunk, but dehydration could still be a concern.

"It's this, or I go punch a tree to death…" Art grumbled, lifting her head to find a pint of water had been placed beside her whiskey. She looked over at her drinking companion with an arched brow, to which he responded with a shrug and a smirk.

"Just making sure."

Art chuckled under her breath but took hold of the water and sipped at it nonetheless. A tiny smile appeared on her face and she turned it towards Clint. "Thanks." Clint returned the smile and leaned one elbow up on the bar so he was slouching sideways a bit. He nodded at her for good measure.

"No problem. So, uh, you need a place to crash?" Clint asked. "I've got an open pull-out couch––and I run kitchen therapy sessions for forlorn friends from midnight to midnight." Art's brows scrunched together as she swapped the water glass for the tumbler of whiskey.

"That's all day."

"Yup, it is. I can't tell you how many times I've had Tony show up at my door this last month. He's helped me untangle some unruly wires, though, so I guess it's give-and-take." Clint smirked and took a sip of his beer, still casually leaned up against the bar. Art's lips pulled themselves into a smile and she couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. She could just picture Clint, sleep deprived and rumpled answering the door to Tony, who had a complaint on his lips.

"You are a very good listener, Clint, has anyone told you that?" Art inquired curiously, tilting her head to the side. Clint's lips quirked to the side in a smile and he chuckled. Just his reaction was enough to give her an answer––clearly he'd heard it at least a handful of times before. It was almost as though it was a punchline to a joke that he always found amusing.

"They have. Whether or not I _hear_ it, though, is another matter entirely," Clint informed with a laughter-laced voice. Art's brows pinched together and her head quirked to the side a bit more in question. Chuckling again, Clint poked his pointer finger into his ear and then moved it around a bit. His thumb then pinched at something and, a moment later, he drew something out of his ear. The sharpshooter shifted it into his palm and then held his hand out for her to see. It was a very small device, almost like one of the headsets they'd been given during the Battle. It was smaller, though, and flesh toned. "It's hearing aid. I've almost always been deaf in some capacity, from some circumstance or another. Tony collaborated with S.H.I.E.L.D. to create a hearing aid that isn't all that visible to those who aren't really looking––could be seen as a weakness to enemies, you know?"

Art looked from the hearing aid to Clint looking slightly amazed. She then pointed at him with a smile appearing on her face.

"You're deaf?"

"Mostly. I think the doctors said eighty per-cent last time I checked in with them."

Art chuckled and shook her head as a smile spread across her face. "You're one hell of a man, Barton. I never would have thought," she admitted.

"I can read lips––and I pride myself on being able to talk at a normal volume when the aids are out," Clint said with a proud look on his face, reaching up to remove his second hearing aid. He gestured at Art silently, prompting her to speak.

"Have you ever just taken them out and used them as an excuse to ignore people?" Art asked, speaking at a normal pace and volume. Clint's eyes were intently trained on her lips, slightly narrowed to focus on the words she was saying. He then nodded, smirked and shrugged.

"It can be a good excuse, especially when Tony's trying to chew my ear off," Clint responded, voice completely relaxed and normal. Art grinned and shook her head, reiterating her previous statement of 'one hell of a guy.' Clint fitted the hearing aids back in and took a sip from his pint glass. Art then dropped her cheek into her palm and sent him a sideways glance.

"You sure you wouldn't mind me staying over?" she asked quietly, tracing her pointer finger along the rim of the glass. The change of subject was sudden, but it was to be expected. Clint shook his head and reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. His fingers gave a gentle squeeze and a faint smile quirked up one corner of his mouth.

"You and Steve have been in a fight; I doubt that you going back would leave the night in any better terms. Forgive me for saying so, but you can be one stubborn woman," Clint informed in a matter-of-fact stone. Art groaned, face scrunching up as she recalled Steve saying similar words.

"He said the same thing… that I was stubborn. Goddamn it, Steve…" Art shook her head. Both her hands rose to cover her eyes again, elbows braced against the top of the bar. Clint's brows pinched together and he scooted his stool closer to hers.

"It's not just Steve, is it?" he asked. Art shook her head in agreement. It was no longer just her and Steve's argument, not his biting comments about her not understanding––it was the stress of the last handful of weeks crashing back down on her. It was the breaking point; the cork had popped, as Kenny would have said.

"I haven't been sleeping," Art quietly admitted. "I keep having nightmares about being Loki's minion… I wake up in a cold sweat, jumping at the sounds of car horns or screeching tires… and to stop myself from feeling tired, I work. I push myself to train harder, hoping that, the more tired out my body gets, the easier it'll be to sleep… but it hasn't worked so far." It was quiet for the moment, the residual sounds of the bar filling the gap in conversation. It wasn't a very busy night, but there would surely be more as the evening wore on, as more and more people filtered in as the headed home from this and that.

"I have the nightmares too, you know. They keep you up at night, keep you wondering…" Clint's voice trailed off, the tone becoming somber for a minute; he then patted the bar top and pointed at the soldier beside him, brows rising. "But I think I know just the thing to help," Clint told her, sipping his beer. Art arched an eyebrow in hopeful inquiry, willing to hear any suggestion he might have. "Get away from the city for a weekend. Escape the noise of the cars, relax somewhere nice and quiet. And I know just the place, if you're up for it."

Art mulled the thought over. Maybe it would help to get away from the city… from the sudden sounds and all of the reminders of the Battle of New York and the Asgardian whom had caused it. Each half destroyed building was a reminder, something that twisted at her gut and made her flinch. Out of the city for the weekend… Art looked over to Clint and nodded her head once.

"Where did you have in mind?"

_**Afterword:**_ _**And there we have it! I wanted to post it yesterday or the day before, but I was flying home and I'm now jet-lagged, so that's fun. But, I've been looking forward to getting this up since I knew what Steve and Art were going to fight about. I admit it's not the best subject I could've had them fight about, but I thought that Steve would likely have trouble with deciding his 'true self' after the events of the Avengers. Also got some more Clint in here––throwing in some more of the comic-canon traits about him, like the deafness. Also will still be using movie-canon stuff. Mash it all together! Huzzah!**_

_**Review Replies!**_

**grapejuice101:** _Yeah, Tony and Art's relationship is gonna be an interesting one. It's gonna kinda be love-hate. One minute they'll get along, the next one of them will say something that sets the other off and sass will ensue. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _I again thank you for helping solidify the idea of the staff––I figured she needed a more unique weapon, like Steve's shield. I swear that Rachel will be in one of the next chapters––I just need to get Art out of town, and then she'll likely see it on the television while she's gone; I just couldn't find the right moment in the last two or so chapters to get the interview in. Art will have to step down as Lieutenant Liberty some day, and Rachel would probably be more than happy to take up the mantle :-) When she's older, of course, though. I didn't have Steve mention the work Art's been doing, because he'd become so introverted that they didn't really talk about much other than the whole 'are you okay,' 'I'm fine,' conversations. Art will probably surprise everyone by wearing something that she made herself, so that'll be fun. Again, always love reading your reviews! Thanks again, my lovely; hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

**RJNorth:** _I'm glad you enjoyed Foggy last chapter! And, yes, I just had to throw in that bit about Matt always attracting attractive women, because Foggy ALWAYS brings it up, ahaha! You were right––Steve should've just talked to her. But the poor dear kept it bottled up and then snapped, and snapped a bit too sharply at the end of their argument. He can be a difficult man, but we all love him regardless! Also glad you liked the whole 'oldie who loves the oldies' line; it came to me and I was like 'Tony Stark, when did your voice get inside my head?' I'm so excited to read more of your sequel, it's so good so far! And I should get you the Solace fic very, very soon! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**shugokage:** _The tension was short lived, but I hope that you enjoyed the breaking point in this chapter. Thanks again! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

**darck ben:** _Thank you; I hope you enjoyed the new chapter!_

**weasleylover10:** _I hope that your midterms went well! I just went through finals and my brain is about half dead. I'm glad you enjoyed the tension that had been building between Artie and Steve; I hope you enjoyed the breaking point, too. Thanks again! Hope you enjoyed reading!_

**LMarie99:** _I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**Goldenfightergirl:** _He may not have admitted it here, but he probably is a smidgen jealous of her hanging out with Tony and Matt and Foggy and the like. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**TheGizzYall:** _The remote problem is such a real thing––my mom does it all the time, it's really funny to watch sometimes. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I plan on keeping Matt and Foggy (and Kenny) in this story as much as I can! Even when she and Steve move to DC, I feel like I'll probably have her making calls to Matt to check up on him, and maybe Foggy will call to vent frustration at her. And, of course, Kenny will continue to be concerned as all hell about her. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**starspangledpumpkin:** _As I mentioned in an earlier review, there's definitely more to Steve's frustration than just his whole identity issue he's having––sexual frustration is probably (most definitely) one of the factors, too. But I've got the whole road-map of the StArt relationship planned out, so I know just when all of of those sorts of things happen for the first time ;) I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter as well!_

**Jo:** _The cork did pop, and feelings most certainly got hurt. Artie didn't take too well to the whole 'you don't understand' comment he made. Because she most CERTAINLY understands. Counseling would be good… maybe they could have one of Clint's Kitchen Counseling sessions. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**Guest:** _Steve'll probably have some words with Tony, maybe while Art's away. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**crazehfreakbehungreh000:** _Stuff has gone down! It'll only continue to be tense till they decide to talk it out! I'm glad that you've been enjoying the story so far! I hope that you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**The Redshirt who Lives:** _Her taste in music will only grow… but yes, so far, her taste in more modern music is quite good. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**writersblock2014:** _I plan on following this story to its complete and utter conclusion! I hope you'll stick around to read more––thanks again!_

**anonymouscsifan:** _It'll be oh-so-interesting when Steve and Matt meet… if they meet. It would be fun to write. He's probably a smidgen jealous, which'll only add to his frustrations about everything else. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**KMB:** _It's totally fine! I get how life can get in the way, trust me. I've had fun writing these chapters and beginning to build Art's relationships up with everyone. Steve and Artie'll get all of this revolved soon and go back to being cute to the max. And I'm always glad to hear that you're enjoying the chapters, even if you don't have any constructive advice to give :-) I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**Princess Jaquline Chess:** _I always figured that Steve and Artie would hit rough patches, and I know particular problems that'll be had in the future. All relationships have their rough patches; I hope that you have enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**88dragon06:** _I always try and figure out the most realistic emotional outcome for characters, and it's always interesting to write. It's also always interesting to write new characters and get their mannerisms down. I'm looking forward to having Artie use the staff for real for the first time. I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter; thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those who have added this story to their favorites/follows! It means a lot to me!**_

_**That's it for now! Now that I'm on break I hope to get more chapters up; I can't wait to get started on Winter Soldier, I have SUCH plans. But, first, I'm gonna write Artie's little mini-vacation, which I also have such plans for. I hope that you've all enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again, you all rock!**_

_**~Mary**_


	23. Vacation

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

23\. Vacation

Art pushed her two duffel bags onto an overhead shelf inside of the quinjet Clint had been authorized to take. Art had asked how far away her mini-vacation destination was, but the sharpshooter had just responded with a smirk, a wink, accompanied by the words 'as far away as it needs to be.' Honestly, it wasn't the strangest thing she'd ever been told. The soldier settled herself into the co-pilot's seat and blew out a breath of air, watching as Clint checked and readied all of the systems. Her morning had been tense. She had spent a fitful night of sleep on Clint's pull-out couch, like he'd promised, and after she'd woken up and had breakfast, she returned to the apartment to pack a bag or two. Steve had been awake when she'd come back, and it looked like he hadn't slept a wink. He'd rocketed out of his chair when she walked inside, but didn't say a word. The only time he'd spoken was when she reappeared from their room with the fully packed duffle bags. Steve asked where she was going in a calm, but vaguely concerned voice. Art had tersely, but diplomatically, replied with 'out of the city.' He asked for how long, she replied with 'the weekend.' Then, with that, she left. It wasn't the best of terms to leave on, but it was the best she could do without feeling the need to snap at him.

"So where is it you're taking me?" Art asked once they'd been in the air for half an hour. Clint smirked again and rolled his shoulders, which had begun to feel a tad stiff.

"It's kind of classified––I'd tell you if I could," Clint informed easily. Art hummed and adjusted her sunglasses.

"I take it that I'll not be allowed to tell anyone where I go this weekend?"

"Nope."

"You got it, Ace," she exhaled, sounding tired. She slouched down in the co-pilot's seat, uneasily watching the clouds pass them by. Her attitude towards flying was still overwhelmingly negative, but her experiences on the helicarrier had seemed to help some. Upgraded her reaction to stepping on an aircraft from shuddering, stalling steps to a scowl accompanied by tense shoulders. Of course, Art still felt as though she would drop out of the sky like a stone at any moment, but she didn't necessarily feel a constant and overwhelming sense of unease.

Art leaned her cheek against her fist, staring aimlessly at the control panel in front of her. Guages gave off readings she would likely never understand in her lifetime, but she supposed that she should make an effort to learn a thing or two. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out a small leatherbound notebook she'd purchased shortly after the Battle. She and Steve had resolved to start making lists of things they needed to learn about or needed clarification on. Thus far her list read as such:

–**21 Jump Street (television show)**

–**Martin Luther King Jr.**

–**Jaws (movie)**

–**JFK (35th President)**

–**What direction is the 'one direction' people keep talking about?**

–**Panic! At the Disco**

–**Michael Jackson**

–**Lord of the Rings (books/films)**

–**Star Wars/Star Trek (apparently they're completely different)**

Art scribbled down 'aviation basics (?)' under the words 'Gangnam Style,' which was written in Tony's quick scrawl. She was sure she would never be truly and fully caught up with what she had missed, but it felt somewhat reassuring to know she could catch up with some of it. She spent a lot of time at book shops and libraries, finding books on periods of time that she hadn't gotten the chance to experience. She tapped the pen on the open page and gnawed at her bottom lip for a moment; it was going to be a bit of a flight, and she had to do something… so she turned to look at Clint and asked,

"Got any movie suggestions?"

OOOO

Clint had landed the quinjet in a small field that was filled with lush grass and dotted with various wild flowers of varying color. When the two stepped out of the aircraft, Art squinted into the sunlight. Fresh air that smelled of forest and wildflowers met her nose as she stepped off the ramp. The warmth of the sun washed over her face and neck, and immediately, she felt relaxed. There wasn't a hint of city noise, not even the sound of a passing car. It was peaceful. In the near distance, she saw a farmhouse with green shutters and a fresh coat of white paint. It was surrounded by trees and rolling hills, and a dirt road ran past it before it disappeared into the cover of the forest. It was quiet save for the chirping of birds and the soft din of a cicada. Clint was leading slightly, walking in the direction of the farmhouse. The area was completely and utterly picturesque. It vaguely reminded Art of the one summer her family had gone to New Hampshire for a week and stayed in a friend's cabin. She smiled over at Clint, who smiled right back, looking perfectly at home in his surroundings. Up ahead, a golden furred creature bounded straight for them, barking enthusiastically as it approached. Art, recognizing the sound, narrowed her eyes as the dog approached.

"Lucky?"

Lucky leapt up and put his front paws on her stomach, panting up at her happily. Art laughed in surprise, dropping her duffles in order to ruffle the retriever's fur, ducking into a crouch. Clint chuckled as Lucky barked excitedly and took advantage of her now crouched position in order to lick the soldier's face. Art giggled and pressed her forehead to the top of the beloved dog's head, smiling into his warm fur. Looking up at Clint, who had picked up her bags, she gave him a questioning look. He nodded for her to follow him and then whistled at Lucky, who bounded back towards the porch.

"What is this place?" Art asked as she followed the sharpshooter, catching wind of the smell of flowers. With a calm smile, Clint looked over and gave her a simply reply.

"Home."

Clint trotted up the porch and pulled the screen door open, letting Art step inside first. Even though she'd never been there, the place felt, undeniably, like home. It was cozy and warm and just… homey. The living room to the right was covered in wallpaper patterned with small rose buds; all of the furniture was matched perfectly, in shades of mahogany and softly colored cushions. Toys were strewn about the floor and frothy white curtains billowed in front of open windows.

"Laura?" Clint called out, placing Art's duffle bags at the foot of the stairs.

"Is she here?" replied a voice from a room over. A pretty woman with brown hair twisted into a perfect bun appeared from the kitchen, smiling brightly. Her eyes alighted on Art and she smiled wider. Clint wound an arm around Laura's waist and she did the same, the two standing tucked into one another's sides. He gestured to Art, who stood in the entry hall, slowly beginning to deduce who the woman who came from the dining room was.

"Laura, I'd like for you to meet Lieutenant Artemesia Knoll." Clint slid his hand towards the woman at his side with a growing smile. "And, Artie, I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Laura," Clint said in introduction. Art couldn't stop her eyes from widening at the word 'wife.' But, after the surprise wore off, a smile appeared on her face as she extended a hand to Laura, who accepted the gesture.

"It's an absolute pleasure to meet you," Art said with truthful sentiment. Her mouth hung open a moment longer, as she contemplated whether or not to say something along the lines of 'Clint's told me a lot about you,' because, in truth, he never had.

"The pleasure is all mine. And don't worry, I don't expect you to have heard much about me," she said with casual ease, waving her hand through the air. Art's face became slightly bewildered and Clint chuckled, launching into an explanation.

"I've asked S.H.I.E.L.D. to keep my family off the radar in order to keep them safe. Not many people in our line of work know about Laura or Cooper or Lila. In fact, only Fury, Natasha––and now you––know. It's a secret of the highest degree, and I know I can entrust you to keep it safe," Clint explained, ducking his head in order to kiss Laura's temple. Art nodded with a militaristic precision, lips still pulled into a smile.

"Of course. I'm very well versed in keeping secrets," Art assured. She'd managed to keep her gender a secret from the military for a good long while. It made telling lies easier; and there wasn't anything––besides mind control––that would make her betray a secret of this importance. She pointed to the floor and the slight mess of toys strewn across the carpet. "And… you mentioned kids?"

"Cooper and Lila––they're at school right now, but they'll be back by late afternoon. And they'll be _thrilled_ to meet you," Clint told her with a bright grin. It was the biggest, brightest smile she'd ever seen on his face. Art's smile grew and her chest started to feel warm. It was nice to see Clint so excited and so happy; the Battle of New York had significantly shifted his mood for a while. That was what being mind controlled by a psycho god of mischief did to someone. Clint was a good guy––a real good guy. There was nothing more Art wanted for him than to have a happy life beyond all the scares and fighting.

"I'll be thrilled to meet them, too. I have to say, I'm glad that you're not gonna grow old alone and become that crotchety old man down the road that all the kids are scared of," Art teased gently. Clint fixed her with an insulted look that crinkled his brow and his mouth. Laura placed a hand in the middle of Clint's chest and patted it fondly.

"Alone, he won't be. Crotchety? That's still a possibility," Laura said in a conspiratorial tone. Clint looked at her, offended, and then snorted with an air of indignance surrounding him. He looked between both women and snorted a second time, a sound that was quickly followed by a scoff.

"I resent both of your statements with all of my being. I will _not_ be crotchety… I'll be the old guy that all the kids wanna be when they get old." Laura laughed and smiled up at him lovingly. Clint chuckled and turned to kiss his wife sweetly; Laura swatted at his chest playfully in retaliation. She then pushed him away and gestured to their guest, who stood smiling in the entrance hall.

"You should show her to her room, she looks exhausted."

"Yes, ma'am," Clint replied in a playful deadpan. He snagged Art's duffle bags from the foot of the stairs and began to ascend, nodding for her to follow. The steps creaked with each step he took, a sound that Art found strangely comforting. It reminded her of the stairs in the apartment she and her brother and aunt used to live in. "C'mon, Lieu, you've got a lot of sleep to catch up on."

"Thank you, very much, for letting me stay here," Art told Laura. "If there's anything I can do to help out while I'm here, please, don't hesitate to mention it." Laura waved a hand through the air dismissively. Art smiled and gestured vaguely with her own hands, brows creasing. "Please. I'm… old fashioned when it comes to things like hospitality. If there is… _anything_… don't hesitate."

"Get your ass up here, Artie, you're here to relax, not work!" Clint called from the top of the stairs. Art rolled her eyes and Laura smiled as she sat on the arm of the couch.

"I'll be sure to tell you," Laura assured. Art smiled thankfully at the woman and nodded to her.

"It was lovely to meet you."

"The sentiment goes both ways. Rest well."

Art was given the guest room, the walls of which were painted a soft pastel blue. The curtains were frothy and white, fluttering in the afternoon breeze; Clint set her bags at the foot of a dresser that was painted in a shade of white that was vaguely creamier than the white trim along the floor. The bed looked impossibly inviting, with its fluffy blankets that were delicately patterned with blue flowers, and its matching pillows. Clint placed both hands on his hips before nodding to the door.

"The bathroom is just next door, and there's one downstairs just off the kitchen, just in case the one up here is occupied… use the dresser as you see fit… the washing machine is downstairs, as is the dryer––we have a clothes line if you prefer that… and don't hesitate to ask for anything you need. Seriously, I'll drive into town to get it if need be. But, for now, get some rest. I'll make sure Lila and Cooper are quiet when they get home," Clint explained, leaning up against the aforementioned dresser. Art sat down on the edge of the bed, which was growing more and more inviting with each passing second.

"Thank you, Clint. The kids can be as loud as they want, I _do_ have a little brother… who isn't so little anymore… but you get the point––I'm used to noise. But, again, thank you. Really… thank you." Art smiled a smile that was drained but grateful none the less. Clint returned it and walked towards the door, reaching out to gently chuck her under the chin as he went.

"Keep your head up, Artie. It'll all be okay; get some rest, alright?"

Clint shut the door once he left, leaving Art alone in the well lit guest room. The windows were open, letting in a pleasant breeze that wafted over the bed. She yanked off her boots and dropped them next to the bedside table; after she shed her jacket, Art tucked herself under the covers and settled her head into the pillows. The sheets and comforter warmed up as she lay there completely still; the sheets smelled like the fresh air outside. The mattress was perfectly balanced between soft and firm, just how she liked it. It was incredibly relaxing. Both her eyes fell shut and she listened to the gentle chirping of the birds outside… to the sound of Clint and Laura's voices downstairs… and, soon enough, she had drifted off…

_Wherever she was, it was dark. There was nothing to distinguish where it was she stood. The only distinguishing feature were the shadows that clung to the very air she was breathing in. The air was heavy. She felt heavy: her head, her chest, her limbs… it was like she had been filled with cement. That heaviness, and her confusion, prevented her from wanting to move. _

"_You and I are alike, dear Artemesia," drawled a voice that crept down her spine in a shiver. Loki. Art could suddenly felt the Asgardian's presence just over her shoulder; her hair was disturbed by his breath and her nerves were on edge. "We are not heroes." He stepped into her peripheral vision, and she could tell he was still wearing the battle armor she'd last seen him in, complete with the vivid green cape. For whatever reason, he was perfectly visible in the darkness that surrounded her. He smiled at her and clasped his hands behind his back. "Heroes save people."_

"_I've saved people," Art spat in a trembling voice. Her fingers curled into fists that caused her nails to bite into her own palm. Loki's brows arched towards his hairline in an expression of dubiousness._

"_Have you? You have killed dozens of agents… your comrades. You betrayed your friends, tired to kill that captain of yours. Tell me, Artemesia… have you managed to save anyone who is truly important to you?" Loki inquired, crossing in front of her. Art's brows pinched together as Loki smirked and disappeared into the shadows. From the same shadows came a voice that she recognized. A voice that pulled at her heart strings._

"_You didn't save __**me**__." Coulson appeared from the shadows, face pale and eyes tired. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and a large spot of it bloomed across the front of his chest as he spoke. "If you'd gotten there a couple of minutes quicker, I wouldn't be dead." Art's mouth flopped open uselessly, not a single word exiting her lips. "You were my idol. You let me down." Another figure appeared to Coulson's right, a face that she didn't personally recognize. The man had a buzz cut and wore a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. A thick bruise marred the flesh of his right cheek. There were bullet wounds in his chest._

"_You didn't try and save me," said the man. "You hit me with a pipe and shot me at point-blank range with my own gun."_

"_And me. You shot me in the stomach," said a woman, who appeared just behind the man. Art felt her eyes start to sting as more and more people began to appear from the shadows, creating a crowd. They were all informing her of how she had killed them––snapping their necks, shooting them, making them bleed out––and their voices were a painful droning in her ears. Tears began to stream down her cheeks and her hands began to shake. Above the amalgamation of voices of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, she heard Loki's calling out,_

"_Look at all those you could not save! __**You are no hero!**_"

"_**Stop!**_" _Art screamed, hands clamped over her ears. She fell to her knees and curled in on herself, sobs beginning to wrack her body. She would be haunted by these people for the rest of her life; she'd killed them whilst under Loki's control, but it was still her who had carried out the deed. It felt like they were all swarming in on her. Guilt crashed down on her, prompting Art to cross her arms over her head. "Please, stop…"_

"_Artie," said a gentle voice that warmed her chest. A gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder, prompting her to raise her head. In front of her crouched Bucky, all done up in his blue Commandos uniform. His hair was neatly swept in a side-flick and he was clean shaven, just like the last time she had seen him. His eyes were comforting and soft, and his lips were ever so slightly quirked to the side._

"_Bucky…?"_

"_Hey, there, pretty boy." His voice seemed to be the only sound now, calming her racing heart and frazzled nerves. Bucky's hand slipped off his shoulder and fell to rest on his own knee. His eyes flickered over her face and took in her crumpled form. He gave a little snort. "You're not looking too hot."_

"_I… I feel __**terrible**__, Bucky. I… I killed them all…" Art squeaked out in a broken voice. Bucky slowly nodded, hair slouching across his forehead; it became unkempt, like he'd just been through a wind storm._

"_I know, Artie. And you should. You __**should**_ _feel terrible," Bucky emphasized. Art's face smoothed out in a look of mild horror. Blood began to trickle from his hairline, slithering along the side of his face. Her eyes widened as the rivulet became thicker and began to flow heavier. There was a gash cutting through his hairline, forehead, and temple, and it was starting to bleed profusely. The left half of his face was almost entirely red. "You had a chance to save me on the train. You could've held me back, could've had my six… but you didn't. And I died." Spots of blood began appearing on his coat and the fabric split in some places._

"_I… Bucky, I–I __**wanted**_ _to!"_

_Bucky's face became angrier, nose scrunched and lips pulled downwards. "You didn't even extend your hand to me! You were there before Steve, you could've helped!" His jacket was practically purple now, with the amount of blood that was seeping through it. Scratches appeared on his face and his hair became more disheveled. "I'm dead thanks to you, Ace. I'll never grow old… why did you do this to me, Artie?"_

"_Bucky, please!" Art pleaded, reaching forward to grab hold of his jacket. It was sticky and wet. Her fingers turned red. He shook his head and one of the shoulders of his jacket split open. His arm sagged lower after a joint in it popped and cracked loudly._

"_Why, Artie?" Art shook her head and more tears flowed from her eyes as Bucky's body progressively became more broken, more torn and bloodied. Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, his face slackened, and the life in his eyes dying, leaving them glazed over. He began slouching forward on a collision course with Art. Just as his lifeless body hit her own, she let out a heart-wrenching scream…_

… And sat up in bed. Art was breathing hard and there were tears on her cheeks. Her lips were clamped shut, though, which meant she hadn't just belted out the scream that had ended her dream. The blanket was tangled around her feet. Sweat––cold and moist––coated her forehead and back, and the room was now dark. The image of Bucky's bloodied face still lingered in the forefront of her mind, staring at her with angry eyes and a disappointed frown. He had spoken a fear she'd never voiced out loud, save for a single instance to Steve immediately after Bucky's death. She worried that she _was_ the reason he was dead; that there was something she could've done to have prevented him from falling, from being put in the position to fall. It was painful to think that she could have saved his life… but that she didn't.

Art dropped her head into her hands and hunched forward. Her cheeks were wet with tears that she had shed in her sleep, so she wiped it all away and sniffed unpleasantly. The room was dark, the sun having dipped below the horizon some time ago; the breeze was now a slight bit too cool, causing a shiver to run down Art's sweaty spine. Kicking the comforter to the foot of the bed, Art switched on the lamp on the bedside table so the room was bathed in a warmer light. Shadows disappeared into the corners, and the light seemed to help her mood somewhat. Once she had shut the windows, drawn the curtains, and then pulled on a cardigan, Art made for the bathroom. She shut the door behind her quietly and turned to see her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was rumpled and falling from its ponytail, there were a couple of pillow creases on her flushed cheeks, and her eyes were glassy and pink around the edges.

"Get it together…" she murmured to herself, leaning over the sink. She turned on the tap and began to splash water into her face, rubbing it over her cheeks, forehead, and even the back of her neck. To further distract herself, she began to hum to herself. The tune that had come to mind was 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' by the Andrews Sisters. The upbeat tune echoed inside the sink's basin, mixing with the sound of rushing water. Once her face was sufficiently damp and cold, Art straightened up, dried her face and neck off with a hand towel, and yanked the hair band out of her hair. She felt better, but only marginally so. The image of Bucky's angry, bloody face still came to mind whenever she drifted off her train of thought. It made her flinch and shake her head in attempts to rid herself of the image.

She heard a knock on a door down the hall. "Hey, Artie, you awake?" It was Clint. Pushing her scarred hand through her hair, Art stepped out of the bathroom, and drew Clint's attention. He was dressed the most pedestrian she had ever seen him––jeans, a grey t-shirt, and a flannel button down. "I take that as a yes." His brows slowly drew together and his gaze roamed over her head to toe; as he did so, his face slowly scrunched up in concern. "Are you alright?"

"Hm? Oh, um, yeah, just a bad dream," Art said, forcing a laugh and a smile. The smile fell pretty fast, the mention of the dream having caused a weight to settle in her stomach. She pulled the sleeves of her cardigan over her knuckles and crossed her arms over her chest. Clint pursed his lips and walked towards her, stopping to lean up against the linen cupboard.

"'Just a bad dream?'" he asked. He pointed at her face fleetingly. "You were crying."

"It was, um… it was a… could we possibly talk about it later? I mean… um… it's just… are your kids home?" Art suddenly asked, changing the subject. She'd raised a hand to rub at the scar on her neck, the tips of her fingers skimming across the smooth pink flesh. Clint stared at her through narrowed eyes for a quiet moment before he nodded and tilted his head towards the stairs.

"Yeah, they're downstairs. We're about to eat dinner, actually––I came up to get you. C'mon. It's spaghetti; you'll love it."

Art followed Clint down to the kitchen, where a small dining table was situated. Seated on one side was a boy of about ten years old, and seated beside him was a girl who was a couple of years younger. Clint placed a hand on either of their shoulders and smiled down at them when they turned their attention up to him.

"Alright, guys, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine." Both children quickly looked from their father to the woman who stood just at the end of the table, smiling their way gently. "Kids, this is Artemesia. Artie, this is my son, Cooper," Clint mussed the boy's hair a bit, which caused him to mutter 'dad' and then reach up to fix it, "and my daughter, Lila," the sharpshooter tugged on one of the girl's braids, prompting her to giggle.

Art leaned forward and extended her hand to Cooper. "It's nice to meet you, Cooper." The boy beamed at her and shook her hand with a slightly star-struck look on his face.

"Nice to meet you, too," he responded. Art's smile grew and she crouched down beside Lila and offered her hand to her.

"And it's lovely to meet _you_, Lila." The young girl smiled and placed her small hand in the middle of Art's palm. She seemed a little more shy than her brother, looking at the soldier from under her lashes. Art curled her fingers around Lila's hand and shook it with a kind smile on her face.

"Thanks. Nice to meet you."

"You can sit wherever you like," Clint told Art, patting her on the shoulder. He shuffled around her and assisted Laura with transferring numerous bowls from the counter to the table. Art rose to her feet and pulled the chair at the head of the table back a foot; still smiling at Lila, she pointed to the youngest Barton's hair.

"I like your braids, Lila. They're very pretty," she complimented as she sat. Lila smiled widely.

"My mom braided it," she informed, voice significantly less timid than it had been a moment before.

"She did a fantastic job of it! I like to braid my hair, too." Art ran her fingers through her hair and pulled it over one shoulder, beginning to weave it all into a braid. Lila giggled and reached up to touch her own, smaller braids. Art winked at her. "It won't be as good as yours, though."

Clint and Laura took a seat opposite their children and everyone began to pile food onto their plates. The chill that Art's nightmare had left her with seemed to completely dissipate. The familiarity of sitting at a dining table filled with other people sparked a warmth within her; it reminded her of dinners with Florence and Kenny, in their small and slightly cramped apartment. The kids chattered about their day at school animatedly and Art listened as she nibbled on her garlic bread. Outside crickets had started to chirp. Lucky was sleeping in the doorway to the living room, completely sprawled out and snoring softly. Art smiled into her glass of water as she took a sip, truly feeling quite at home.

"So… you're Lieutenant Liberty?" asked Cooper curiously. He was watching Art intently, a half-eaten piece of bread in his hand. Art set her glass down and nodded her head once, jostling her loosely braided hair.

"That's what I've been told," she replied with a good natured smile. "I was always used to being called 'Lieutenant Kensington.' I think the whole 'Liberty' bit was added when I was…" Art paused and searched for the right words, "out of commission."

"So you know Captain America."

"I do. Though, I just call him Steve."

"That's so cool. You guys fought together, right? In the second World War?" Cooper inquired, inching forward in his seat. Laura set her fork down and shot her son a warning look. A look that he either didn't see, or had elected to ignore.

"Cooper, Artemesia is here to relax, not share war stories," Laura gently reprimanded. Cooper looked down at his plate and responded by shoving his garlic bread into his mouth sullenly. Art's lips quirked to the side in a tiny smile. Cooper's interest in her time fighting with Steve reminded her of Kenny, and the excitement he had always conveyed in the letters he had sent her. She leaned her elbows on the table––something that her aunt would have reprimanded her for––and smiled a bit fuller.

"It's alright, Mrs. Barton. I really don't mind the curiosity," Art admitted truthfully. The events of the past were still sore for her to think about, but they weren't far as painful as they used to be. Just by talking with Clint––and, yes, sometimes Tony––that soreness had become duller, and the stories easier to tell. Cooper perked up at her comment, an eager look appearing in his eyes. "_But_, they aren't stories for the dinner table. I will promise to tell you a story or two, though." She looked over at Clint, who was watching her with an arched eyebrow as he chewed on a mouthful of pasta. Offering a mild smirk, she added on another sentence. "One of the less harrowing ones, of course." Clint nodded approvingly, throwing a thumbs-up over his plate. Laura shook her head, though a tiny smile had quirked up the corners of her mouth.

"Those are the best ones, though…" Cooper murmured, twirling his fork around in his spaghetti. The adults all chuckled and everyone resumed eating, the conversation now flowing towards things such as where Art had grown up and what her family was like. Cooper and Lila avidly listened, like they were being read a book. Clint and Laura asked questions that she gladly answered, the memories bringing a smile to her face.

Once dinner had ended and a glance had been taken at the clock, Clint ushered the kids upstairs and to bed. Art helped with the dishes, idly chatting with Laura as she dried the plates she was handed.

"I have to thank you, Artemesia," Laura told her as she wiped her hands dry with a dish towel. Art opened up one of the cupboards and began to put the plates away, trying to make as little sound as possible. She was aware of how hard it was to get kids to go to bed; and how easy it was for them to fake it and read comics under the covers.

"Please, call me Art or Artie."

"Then you should call me Laura," she insisted with a smile. Art returned it over her shoulder.

"Why is it you're thanking me?" Art asked, stretching up on her toes to place a plate on the next shelf up. Laura gathered up the washed cups and began to reallocate them to their respective cupboard.

"For saving Clint's life. He told me that you saved him during the Battle of New York, and I can't thank you enough for that." Laura leaned against the countertop and fixed the soldier with a genuine look of thankfulness, her eyes slightly glassy. Art dropped to stand flat-footed, turning away from the cupboards. Laura smiled fleetingly, crossing her arms over her ribcage. "We really worry about him. He… he can't communicate with us during missions, it's too dangerous. So it's always taxing to have to wait for a phone call and waiting to see how beat up he is when he comes home… But to know that he's got people like you and Natasha looking after him… it means a lot. To me and the kids. Thank you."

Art stood there quietly for a moment. She understood the sentiment. Before she was promoted to sergeant, she would always wait for news of Bucky's return, anxiously doing her duties around camp till she heard news of the mission's outcome. Even when she was in the Commandos, Art would tensely wait to find out everyone's status. The soldier smiled at Laura from across the kitchen, pushing her hands into her pockets.

"It's my genuine honor to fight with your husband, and I will always do what I can to get him home to you," Art promised. Laura smiled brightly and quietly reiterated her earlier 'thank you.' "I owe him my life. He saved me plenty of times during the Battle, so I've got a quota I need to meet and surpass."

"I look forward to the competition. What does the winner get?" Clint teased as he entered the kitchen. He was smirking and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Art arched an eyebrow.

"Their life?"

"Mm, makes sense. Lila wants you, Laura." Clint placed a hand on Laura's shoulder and kissed the top of her head as she passed. Laura laughed quietly and smiled at him over her shoulder as she left. He watched her disappear from the living room, gaze lingering a moment before he turned around and headed to the fridge. "There will come a day when Lila will settle for only one of us putting her to bed; but today is not that day…" He reached into the fridge and withdrew two beers from a cardboard case in the door. He nodded towards the front door as he dug a bottle opener out of a drawer. "Let's go to the porch."

The air was cool and smelled beautifully fresh; crickets chirped and a couple birds were singing their selected nightly songs. The porch was warmly illuminated by overhead lights, around which bugs quickly zipped around. There were a couple of chairs made of wicker and what looked to be a hammock that was yet to be strung up. Clint leaned against the porch railing and took a swig of his beer. Art joined him, staring out over the expanse of dark field and forest before her.

"I'm thinking of redoing the porch… the balusters, you know? These ones are getting pretty old," Clint informed, gently knocking his knee against one of the balusters. Art hummed as though she knew what he was talking about––which she didn't––and gulped down a swig of beer. The bottom of her feet were chilled by the porch's decking, and she could feel the bits of paint that were starting to peel. "So… about that dream…"

Art laughed and looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Is that what the beer was for? To loosen me up?" She took another swig of beer. "You'll need to get me two or three more before I get that very brief buzz."

"That _was_ the hope, but it _would_ be much easier if you just talked about it."

Art hung her head and exhaled heavily. The nightmare began to slowly creep to the forefront of her mind, the images causing her lips to curl in a wince. She stood up straight and let her head loll backwards in order to stare up at the light, gnawing on her lips as she tried to force the words out of her throat.

"It… started with darkness." With those words said, it started an entire flood of sentences. Art recounted everything, from Loki's words to the way that Bucky had turned on her. By the end of describing every disturbing image, every horrible word, Art wanted to cry again. Her beer was empty and set aside. It seemed colder, now, but Art thought that could possibly just all be in her head. She and Clint were seated on a small wicker love seat that was pressed flush to the side of the house, sitting quietly beside one another.

"Damn…" Clint whispered, shaking his head. He ran a hand over his mouth, eyes slightly narrowed as he stared into the darkness. "Is that what all of your nightmares are like?"

"No. Usually it's just… memories replaying themselves or resurfacing," Art told him, hugging her knees to her chest. Her toes curled over the edge of the cushion, which was well worn and sun bleached. The sharpshooter nodded, and she assumed he was agreeing that his nightmares had been the same. "This was the first time Loki's appeared in any of them… Makes me wonder if… if maybe…" Art shook her head and placed a hand over her eyes. "Nevermind."

"I don't think that he can manipulate your dreams from Asgard," Clint tried to assure her, stretching his legs out. He crossed his arms behind his head to create a cushion, tilting his head back to get more comfortable. "But… maybe some of his influence is still lingering?"

"I'm inclined to say no… but… weirder things have happened, right? It's probably just my subconscious taking the chance to beat me up in the form of my most recent adversary…" Art murmured. "It used to be Schmidt…" Her arms tightened around her knees and she grit her teeth as she recalled the words Loki had said in her dream 'you are no hero.' It was funny how dreams could reveal what one feared most. She had never striven to be viewed as a hero, and yet that was how so many saw her now. What scared her was that she might not be able to meet and uphold their expectations. What scared her was that she had already let people down––Bucky, Coulson, all those agents on the helicarrier. What scared her was that she would most certainly let down even more.

"Look… we beat ourselves up every day, both physically and mentally. Us 'heros' do it more so than others, I think, and we each have our own unique reasons." Clint sat forward and rested his forearms atop his knees. Art turned her head towards him and placed her cheek atop her knees. "You and I, we went through _hell_ with Loki, and now we've got even more reasons to beat ourselves up. No matter what the others say, we've got blood on our hands––innocent blood––and that sort of thing weighs. It feels like the world is on our shoulders. It's gonna take a lot of time to lighten that load, and it's gonna be hell, but we can get through it, Artie. We've just gotta… work through all the shit one step at a time."

Art straightened her legs and mimicked the way Clint was sitting. She mashed her lips together and let Clint's words fully settle in. It was shocking but reaffirming to hear what he had said about the innocent blood on their hands. No one else would outright tell them how many people they had killed and always told them that it 'wasn't in their control.' But they _had_ killed the agents nonetheless. Agents who had trusted them. Art felt assured by the fact that there was someone who _really_ knew what she had experienced, and that the same person was willing to hold her hand as they both waded through the aftermath.

"Well, the situation isn't ideal… in fact it's a personal hell… but I'm happy that I've got a partner in crime to help douse the fires," Art told him. She smiled at him, a look that he returned easily. He reached out and grasped her hand in his, giving it a friendly squeeze.

"Me too, Lieu, me too."

_**Afterword:**_ _**Well, I decided to make this chapter a bit longer to make up for my absence. I just got caught up with being home again and focused more on family/friends than I did on writing. But I've got the next chapters all lined up so it should be all good! The dream was a last minute addition to this chapter, but I think it gave it some substance. Up next we'll get more Barton Farm moments, and we'll also get some Steve, actually.**_

_**Review Replies!**_

**darck ben:** _I've been contemplating what I can do to pull Jessica Jones into the story. I guess I could do a simple 'Jessica runs into Art on the street' thing, but I'm also looking for other options. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _The fight was, indeed, a touch trivial, but that's what a lot of fights are about. They're each taking this 'away from each other' time to cool down and take stock of what they need to do when they see each other next. And I bet you guessed it was the farm Clint was taking her to, right? I saw Age of Ultron and pretty much figured that was where she would end up heading at some point or another; the fight just gave me the perfect opportunity to get her out there. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _Art is at the Barton family farm and things will only get better! There is much bonding to be had. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _I wondered if the intentionally breaking things would be a bit weird or cliché, but it does work kind of well, right? Indeed, Clint's farm! There are many adventures to be had (maybe a Nerf war or two)! I have a couple of things lined up for Artie to be doing before she returns home to New York. Then it's on to the Winter Soldier. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!  
_**shugokage:** _Art coming home will be interesting, and their relationship will certainly start to grow more now that they've got some stuff out of the way. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _I'm glad you enjoyed the previous chapter; thanks again! I hope you enjoyed the new one!_

**shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod:** _I always look for a way to integrate flashbacks, give more perspective to her and Bucky's relationship pre-Steve. I'm half tempted to just write up a bunch of one-shots about it all. I also really like building her relationship with the other Avengers like Clint and Nat. And the fight stung, but it was necessary; and the resolution is on its way. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**Narutoske:** _We'll get to Winter Soldier pretty soon. I'm glad that the flashback worked, I was trying to make sure it fit; also, there'll be more of Steve's POV coming up. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Goldenfightergirl:** _I had figured that Arthur is likely dead by now––he would've been in his mid nineties. But had he still been alive, she would've definitely gone to visit him. I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**dancindonna:** _I'm glad you love it so far! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter; thanks again!_

**Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967:** _Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter as well!_

**The Redshirt who Lived:** _At this point, Art is too scared of the cold hyper-focused side of herself. She doesn't know where it came from and she's worried about how hard it is to draw herself out of it. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**anonymouscsifan:** _I have plans for Art to bond with Cooper and Lila, and Laura as well. Steve, as we'll see next chapter, has certainly gotten a wake-up call. He definitely is jealous of Matt in some form––maybe a bit with Tony, but he's probably more upset that Tony's managed to usurp her time. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again! _

**Jo:** _Steve and Art definitely have had experience with the whole 'they don't really know who they are'; but, perhaps, Clint's farm with help play a part in some of Art's realization. She definitely finds it easy to talk with Clint, as proven by her conversation with him at the end of the chapter. Winter Soldier is a'comin'! Sooner than (I) think, but it's coming! Thank YOU for reaffirming that I'm keeping the characters down to earth and all that jazz! You rock! Thanks again!_

**Guest 1:** _It'll be interesting for Steve and Art in the make up process; and Art hasn't really had a quiet moment away from everything and everyone since before World War Two. I feel like Clint and Art are like the mischievous siblings who like to muck everything up for shits and giggles––kind of like how Art and Bucky were friends. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**sarahmichellegellarfan1:** _I'm glad you're loving it! Thank you; I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

**Pacjr13:** _I'm happy to hear that Art seems like an integrated part of the MCU! And, don't worry, not all fights in the future will be Steve's fault. There are plenty of opportunities (and ones that I have planned) where it will be Artie who instigates the fight whether she realizes it or not. It's only realistic if she starts a couple of their arguments. I've yet to truly sort out how Art will react to Sharon, but I need to figure that out soon! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Guest 2:** _Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter!_

**Guest 3:** _Thank you, very much! I hope that you enjoyed the chapter!_

**paulavara140:** _Here's the update––hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!_

**Guest 4:** _Thank you! I hope to be able to update more often than I've been able to as of late; hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

**KMB:** _I thoroughly believe that you can be a fanfic writer, even if replying to things isn't really your forté––I'm horrible with updating and responding to reviews. Ahhhh, I have such plans for TWS! I cannot wait to get around to it (which is sooner rather than later)! I'm very flattered to hear that you re-read the story in between my updates, it makes me smile! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**fantasy92:** _Buongiorno! Thank you very much, I'm glad you're enjoying it thus far. I hope you enjoyed the update! Thanks again!_

**Guest 5:** _Here is the update! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**AnimiaCorn:** _I am extremely happy that you've enjoyed the two stories so far! I love weaving Artie into the MCU, and I'm always glad when people enjoy the way she's been placed into the story. I won't lie, Winter Soldier is gonna be tough. Artie seeing Bucky again is just gonna be… heart-wrenching. And there are other things I have planned that are just gonna be… ugh. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**88dragon06:** _Artie's episodes are becoming a bit more noticeable to her, and she's starting to get worried about it all; I'm glad that you've started picking up on them as 'episodes.' I always knew Artie needed to make a dramatic exit after the fight––dramatic and effective. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**ConquerorofHeaven:** _You will most certainly get to see the scene where they lift Thor's hammer! In fact, I've gotten it pre-written! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; thanks again!_

**AriellaSerenity:** _I have finally updated! I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter; thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those that have added this to their favorites/follows; it means a lot to me!**_

_**Well, that's it for now. More Barton Farm adventures next time around, with a touch of Steve back in New York. I want to get to Winter Soldier pretty soon, which means I may have to scrap some of the ideas that I initially wanted to put between Avengers and Winter Soldier, but they can be placed elsewhere :) So, I hope that you all enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for taking the time to read, you all rock!**_

_**~Mary**_


	24. The Prospect of Apologies

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

_**The new cover for this story was made by the lovely Cecixx19 on deviantart––thank you, again, so much! It's been cropped, so go check it out on her profile to see the whole thing.**_

24\. The Prospect of Apologies

_**New York City, New York**_

The apartment had been unusually and unsettlingly quiet for the past day. Steve sat at the small table situated in the kitchen, listening to the dull hiss of the record player in the living room and the ticking of the analogue clock. He had started playing one of Art's records––the Andrews Sisters––in hopes of filling the silence. The blond soldier was bent over a sketch pad, scratching an image onto the page; he tried not to smudge the lines and tried to keep his eyes focused on the strokes he was making. But it was hard to stay focused when his mind kept drifting back to the events of the other evening. Steve's nimble pencil strokes slowed as his head slowly raised to stare at the chair opposite him. The curved section of wood atop it was splintering and cracked in two places, where Art had gripped it in anger; his eyes shifted to the tabletop just to the right of his hand, where the wood had given way slightly under his own palms. With his jaw tensing, Steve turned back to his drawing and tried to focus on it for the upteenth time.

Steve hadn't slept well the previous night. The verbal bullets that he and Art had slung at each other had continued to sting, refusing to give him any peace. He thought of every word he had uttered, every admittance that had spilled from his mouth… he thought of the hurt that had crumpled the beautiful features of her face. What he had said had been the truth; Steve had been truly wondering where it was Steve Rogers stopped and Captain America began. The degree of comfort he had felt being Captain America during Loki's rampage had tried to convince him that the world only needed the Star Spangled Man––not the kid from Brooklyn. Some small part of him tried to voice the polar opposite of that opinion. That 'Captain America' was an outdated ideal, something that the world no longer needed. That Steve Rogers could just be Steve Rogers now. Then Artie had stepped in and voiced a compromise of the two arguments. The world needed Captain America, but it needed Steve Rogers too; he didn't need to be one or the other. He could happily be both. That he was as much Captain America as he was Steve Rogers… something that he had said to comfort _her_ in one of her moments of self doubt.

The pencil dropped from Steve's fingers and he raised both hands to his face. The heels of his palms dug into his eyes, rubbing them tiredly. Another thing that plagued his thoughts was this: Art hadn't told him when she would be coming back. For all he knew, she would be gone for a week. Maybe longer. He had tried giving her a call the previous afternoon and ended up hanging up when the phone prompted him to leave a message. The soldier repeated the action that morning around two-thirty when sleep had fled him for good. Honestly, Steve didn't know what he would've said if she had picked up. An apology would be necessary, but the right words stuck in his throat like syrup. The comment he had made about her not understanding his plight was, in hindsight, rather insensitive. Art had changed her whole identity to join the military, and was then forced to maintain a fierce balancing act between being Arthur and Artemesia once he and the Commandos knew all. Perhaps she, too, was struggling with deciding just how much of the time she needed to be Lieutenant Liberty and how much she needed to be Artemesia Knoll. Had their fight been a conversation, he might've found out.

Steve flipped the sketchbook shut and slouched backwards heavily, contemplating whether or not to make another pot of coffee. He rose to his feet and made for the cabinet that housed the package of coffee grounds; they were from some shop called Starbucks and were a gift from Clint, who said that it tasted better than store brand stuff. If he was being perfectly honest, Steve hadn't minded the store brand coffee––it definitely tasted better than the brown, watered down beverage they used to get every morning during the war. The record in the other room began to play 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy,' which happened to be one of Art's favorites. Back in the day, she had sung it under her breath while taking stock of ammunition, and in more recent times, she would hum it absent mindedly. Steve's lips quirked to the side as he thought of her trying to teach him to dance to this song; a faster paced, more complicated form of dance that he had never learned. It had been something close to disastrous. He had tripped over everything––including his own feet––and nearly fell into their couch a time or two. She had laughed at him good naturedly and promised him that one day he would get a hang of it one day. And he hoped that he would.

Once a quarter of the pot of coffee was gone, old sketchbooks were thumbed through, and the record had played its course, Steve made a call. He still didn't quite have the hang of texting, but the person he had made plans with prefered verbal communication just like him. Steve found his way to the suggested diner, which seemed to have a fifties era atmosphere to it. The soldier looked this-way-and-that, eyes roaming over all the patrons till he spotted Kenneth in a corner booth. Steve slipped into the book across from the youngest Knoll, the two shaking hands as he sat.

"Nice place," Steve mentioned, nodding around the establishment. Kenny nodded and fondly took in everything around them. "Very… homey, really."

"It's not changed that much since I was a kid. Though, the era is more of a novelty, now, than a lifestyle. Artie used to take me here on Friday nights once she got off work. She'd be in her uniform and she was usually exhausted, but she always took me. We would get shakes and fries, and sometimes we would catch a picture afterwards," Kenny recounted happily, reaching up to adjust his glasses. He chuckled and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Oh, those were simpler times, Steve."

Steve's lips were quirked into a smile, picturing Art and a younger Kenny walking through the diner doors. "Fun times."

"Fun indeed. Now, we didn't come here for an old man to reminisce; what is it you want to talk about?" Kenny asked as a waitress came by with a tray. She placed two plates, each laden with french fries and a burger, and then set down two milkshakes. "I took the liberty of ordering for you. Got you a chocolate shake––they're Artie's favorite, you'd best remember that. I'm getting distracted again, sorry about that, ace. What is it that's bothering you?"

Steve laughed gently and shifted the plate towards him, smiling down at the food Kenny had ordered. He pinched a salty fry between his fingers as his smile waned, remembering why it was he'd called up Artie's brother.

"You ever get into a fight with Artemesia?" Steve asked before popping the fry into his mouth. Kenny laughed and placed a hand on the middle of his chest, the other clutching his hamburger.

"Of course I did, I'm her little brother. I annoyed her day in and day out, and sometimes tensions snapped. Why?" Steve quietly bit into his hamburger. Kenny stared at Steve intently, eyes trying to take in each concerned crinkle on the man's face. He nodded, set his burger down, and brushed his fingers off. "You two had a row." Again, he nodded, his thin hair nearly flopping onto his forehead. "It was a long time coming."

"Beg pardon?" Steve raised his head, a crease firmly set between his brows. Kenny crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, eyeing Steve with a more serious look in his eyes; all his joviality took a backseat with the way the conversation had turned.

"Artie came to me a little while ago, just after the Battle––she came to fix my curtains––but she wasn't… she… she was working herself ragged. She was tired. Said that she was worried about you, Steve. So worried, in fact, Artie was beginning to disregard what _she_ was feeling." They sat there quietly for a hesitating moment before Steve cleared his throat and pushed his plate aside.

"The nightmares?" questioned Steve. Kenny nodded solemnly.

"The nightmares," Kenny confirmed. "She was beginning to, uh, worry she was gonna start hurting people against her own control. 'Cause of that… that, uh… that guy you all fought––let me tell you, if he ever comes back, I'll come out of retirement and beat his ass. But if someone she loves is hurting, you better bet all her worry will be centered on them. Judging by the look on your face… she didn't tell you any of this."

Steve fiddled with a pickle that had been placed on the side of his plate, turning it over and over as he began to think it over. Art had been so concerned about the way Steve had been acting that she had decided not to voice any of her own worries. That was just like her, too. She _should_ have, though, Steve decided. It would have been enough to bring him out of the funk he had been in––at least for a while––and he would've done his best to convince her it was okay. That Loki no longer held any power over her. Unfortunately, there was no way to go back and change what had been done. If there was technology capable of that, he and Artie would've been back in World War Two minutes after they'd woken up, ready to finish the fight.

"No… she didn't…" Steve trailed off dismally. He exhaled slowly and massaged his fingers over his forehead. "She, um…" He cleared his throat. "Artie left after we fought. Don't know where, though. Even if I did, I wouldn't drag her back against her own will. But… I just wanted to know… know what to…"

"What to do?" Kenny supplied helpfully. Steve exhaled heavily and nodded his confirmation; Kenny arched an eyebrow curiously. "This the first fight you've both had?" Steve reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, looking vaguely sheepish. A chuckle sounded in the back of the youngest Knoll sibling's throat. Ah, young love. "Leave her be and let her cool down. When she comes back, talk it out; both of you will have to apologize for whatever it is you need to apologize for. And give her a call, leave her a message, start laying the groundwork you'll both need to set to get this resolved."

A tiny smile appeared on Steve's face. He looked across the table at Kenny and offered a slight shake of his blond head. "Of the two of us at the table, I'm older; _I _should be the one giving the words of wisdom." Kenny chuckled jovially and sat forward in order to take up his hamburger again.

"I may be younger, but I've lived longer, had more life experience. When you've lived as long as me, you'll get your chance to be the wise old man," Kenny teased. He watched as Steve drew the milkshake towards himself, smiling gently at the icy glass it was housed in. "She really loves you, Steve. I think it goes without saying––no matter how clichéd it is––that if you hurt her or get her hurt, I'll come after your ass like you wouldn't believe."

"I think I can believe that," Steve laughed, curling his fingers around the glass. The two men locked gazes over the tabletop and Steve's smile softened. "I love her, Kenneth, I wouldn't do anything to hurt her."

Kenneth raised his milkshake glass to Steve in a sort of toasting motion. "You better not, Captain America. You better not."

OOOO

_**Barton Farm, Location Undisclosed**_

Art eyed the bullseye of the target set before her with intense concentration. The pointer and second finger of her right hand stung and felt raw. Her sights were wobbly thanks to the fact she couldn't hold the compound bow steady. It was mid afternoon and the sun was warm, perfect weather for archery lessons; or so Clint had said. The kids were inside eating lunch and enjoying their weekend, and Laura was reading a book on the porch. Clint stood just behind the soldier holding his bow, eyeing her form critically. They'd been at it for an hour, and she'd managed to graze the target more than a handful of times and get a couple arrows to stick in the outer rings.

"Try and hold the bow steady," he instructed firmly. He chuckled and crossed his arms in a smug manner. "I thought you had some of the steadiest hands I've ever seen."

"Yeah, well, you should've seen me back in basic training… in fact, I'm having flashbacks," Art deadpanned, trying to will her hands to stop causing the bow to weave about. Clint chuckled and then nodded to the target that stood a good distance away from them.

"Shoot when you're ready."

_Twang!_

_Thwack!_

The loosed arrow lodged itself into the blue ring closest to the middle, a result that Art was satisfied with. The first arrow that had struck the target had stuck itself into the black ring farthest from the middle; while Clint didn't say the result was terrible, she knew that it wasn't impressive, especially considering _his_ skillset. Art's arms dropped to her sides, and she shook out her right hand. The insides of her pointer and second finger were bright red and felt as though they may start to blister. She looked over at the sharpshooter and shook her head, a smile beginning to form on her face.

"I have a newfound respect for you, Clint Barton. That is _not_ as easy as you make it look," she commented. She settled a hand on the flare of her hip and again took stock of the arrows stuck in the target. Her hand shot out to gesture in its direction. "I can't imagine what it's like to hit a moving target."

"Would you believe me if I said it was easy?" Clint joked with a cheeky smile. Art barked a laugh and let her head loll backwards for the briefest of moments.

"No! No I would _not_. I really got lucky with that shot back in New York, huh?"

"Yeah––and I thank the higher powers for it every day."

"Do you mean Thor?" Art asked, beginning to grin. "'Cause he had nothing to do with that."

"Shut up, Lieutenant, and see if your last shot for the afternoon will be as lucky as the one in New York," Clint laughed. Beaming, Art extracted an arrow from the quiver Clint proffered. As she nocked it, Art kept it pointed at the ground and shifted into the proper stance. "Remember to aim as you raise it…"

Lifting the bow, Art set her sights on the bullseye for what seemed like the hundredth time, and drew back the string. She inhaled deeply. She winced when the arrow drifted away from the bow for a fleeting moment. Then, as she exhaled, she let the arrow loose––and watched as it struck the target in between the two red circles. The sharpshooter who had been teaching her applauded her with much more enthusiasm than was needed.

"You're getting better!" Clint praised. "Maybe by the time you leave you'll be able to hit the bullseye." Art laughed and handed Clint the bow, striding forward to go collect the arrows stuck in the target.

"That's a nice idea. But, when it comes down to it, I'll let you shoot the arrows."

"Good plan, Artie, good plan."

The Barton farm was what she pictured as being homey, and it was a welcomed change. It was a nice temporary escape. It was, in fact, just what she needed. All-in-all her time at the Barton family farm had been, thus far, very pleasant. She consistently felt at home. The apartment back in New York was a place she'd learned to call home, but there was something about it that still felt very… distanced. The furnishing were still the ones S.H.I.E.L.D. had set them up with in the beginning, and neither Art or Steve quite liked the color of the walls. The previous evening, after talking with Laura and Clint for an hour or two, Clint decided it was high time that Art be introduced to Star Wars. He had given her the most incredulous look when she mentioned she'd yet to see it, and Laura had excitedly assured her that she would love it. After watching the two hour long film, Art had felt suitably distracted from her nightmare and completely enthralled by the start of the franchise. They planned on watching the second film––Episode V––after dinner. Clint informed her that once she saw the originals, she would then have to watch the prequels, even if she did so on her own back in New York; and then he mentioned he would quiz her to make sure she'd kept true to her word.

"I'm gonna run inside and grab some water––want any?" Clint asked, beginning to back away, thumb jutted in the direction of the house. Art nodded her confirmation and offered a friendly smile. "Sweet, I'll be right back." The archer jogged off and Art turned her attention back to the target she had been focusing in on all day. She placed the bow down on the lawn chair that Clint had been lounging in earlier, chuckling boyishly at the stupid mistakes she had made. Art slung the quiver over her shoulder and approached the target; she then began to work on removing the arrows embedded in it.

"Where'd you learn to shoot?"

Looking up, Art saw Cooper standing a couple feet off, watching her as she removed arrow after arrow. Art smiled and slipped the projectiles back into the quiver. It was Saturday, which meant that he and Lila had the next two days after school, and she suspected that Laura and Clint had dissuaded him from bothering her with such questions all morning.

"We talking about bows or guns?" she asked, extracting the next arrow. Cooper beamed at her and pushed hair out of his eyes.

"Guns, obviously," he laughed and pointed to the target, clearly making the point his father was teaching her the other option. Lucky bounded over and Art crouched down in order to ruffle the fur around his face, stroking it down again with gentle fingers. She then sat herself down in the grass and let Lucky rest his head in her lap.

"A friend of mine taught me. His name was Bucky," Art informed. Cooper sat down across from her and began to tug blades of grass out of the earth, twisting them around in his fingers before letting them flutter out of his grasp.

"He was one of the Howling Commandos, right?"

"That he was. He was like a brother to me…" Art smiled softly. "He always pushed me to do my best; I don't think I would have survived boot camp without him. You should've seen him fight––if he wasn't in the army, he could've been an amature boxer. He really knew how to pack a punch. But he was real thoughtful, too. We had to do running drills, you see, to keep up our stamina and our strength, and I was always towards the back of the group. Sometimes Bucky would double back to run with me, even if he'd already finished. Not to mention, he was one of the funniest guys I've ever known. A real wise-cracker…"

"He sounds cool," Cooper said with a grin. Art grinned back and nodded her agreement. Her fingers danced over the top of Lucky's head and then continued down his golden neck.

"He was the coolest guy I've ever known."

"Even cooler than Captain America?" The tone of the boy's voice was scandalized and his eyes were wide. Art couldn't help but laugh. She often forgot how highly regarded Steve was as a figure to young boys, especially as he was considered a superhero. Art then put on a face of mock seriousness and nodded her head.

"Oh, yes, most definitely."

"B-But he's Captain America!"

"I can't fool you, can I? Bucky and Steve are both pretty equal in regards to their level of cool," Art pretended to decide on, lips quirking into a smile. Cooper looked more satisfied with her second answer, smiling down at his hands as he plucked at the grass. A warm breeze swept through the yard and Art shut her eyes, inhaling the gentle scent of flowers and greenery. Apparently it was supposed to rain later on in the day, but it was still blue skies and sunshine at that moment. Art ruffled the fur on Lucky's stomach and basked in the warmth of the sun while Cooper proceeded to ask her questions. She answered them as she would have answered to Kenny in one of her letters, making sure to keep unnecessary and gory details out of the equation. It was like reciting the plot to a watered down action film; and he didn't seem to mind. Eventually, after talking for a while, the sky started to cloud over, so the conversation––and archery equipment––was moved inside.

"So you got that scar from a grenade?" Cooper asked, pointing at her right hand. Art had just regaled him with the story of how she and Steve had met, from her and one-oh-seventh being captured, to their daring escape. She flexed her fingers outwards, staring down at the discoloration on the back of her hand. She pondered what she should respond with. It could potentially be a breach of classified information if she said what it was that actually caused the wound––a Tesseract powered gun. HYDRA's activities were still highly classified, and the public had little to no knowledge of its existence and influence in the second World War. So Art nodded and let her hand fall back to her side.

"Yeah, it went off a couple feet away and my hand was both burnt by the heat and cut by shrapnel," Art falsely agreed. She propped Clint's bow up against the wall beside the front door and kicked her shoes off so she wouldn't track dirt further into the house.

"Cooper, don't you have math homework?" Laura called from the living room. Cooper groaned and his head fell backwards.

"_Mom._"

"Hey, even _I_ had to do math homework," Art laughed, patting the young boy on the back. "I don't know about you, but my mother was always cross when I didn't get it done on time." Cooper muttered something that sounded like 'you have no idea' and then trudged up the stairs, hand limply sliding up the railing. Art laughed under her breath and slipped into the living room, where Clint and Laura were seated on the couch; Lila was seated between them, a book open in her lap. Art punched Clint's shoulder as she passed. "What happened to getting me a glass of water?"

"It's on the coffee table," Clint pointed out defensively. "I just didn't want to interrupt your conversation with Cooper; he's been wanting to talk to you all day." She smiled at the archer and sat herself down in one of the armchairs. "He started reading the old comics a little while ago, so he was thrilled when I called to say you'd be staying for a bit."

"He's a very nice boy." Art smiled at the beaming parents and picked up the glass of water that had been waiting for her. As she took a sip, she watched Lila shift towards her mother and whisper something. Laura softly asked her to repeat what she'd said and the girl shifted onto her knees to whisper into her mother's ear. The dark haired woman smiled, eyes flicking towards Art.

"Well, why don't you ask her?" she prompted, nodding in the soldier's direction. Art raised her eyebrows in gentle expectation as Lila shifted on the couch to face her. Lila shut the book in her lap and let her legs bounce around on the cushions as she wiggled them around.

"Could you braid my hair, please?" she asked politely. A smile bloomed across Art's face and she sat forward to set her water aside.

"Of course! I would be happy to."

Lila smiled broadly and slipped off the couch, jogging over to sit at Art's feet. Art slipped her fingers through Lila's silky hair, bringing it all over the backs of her shoulders. She started on making a French braid, weaving strands of hair together with adept fingers.

"I'm honestly amazed I still remember how to braid," Art admitted aloud, laughing a bit. Lila's head tilted to the side in a curious movement.

"Why?" she asked. Art continued to overlap the strands of hair as she spoke, her words not distracting her from the task at hand.

"I had very short hair for a long time. Almost as short as your brother's; that meant I couldn't braid it. But, I guess it's like riding a bike, isn't it? You never really forget."

"Did you like having short hair?"

"I did for a while. It was easy to keep out of my eyes, but I started to miss it being longer," she admitted. There had been a time, about a year into her time as Arthur Kensington, where she'd started to miss her long locks of hair. Missed curling and pinning them back, missed doing her make-up and dressing up for nights out. It was around that time that things had started to pick up––she'd been promoted to Sergeant, they were getting more missions, and everything was going to hell in a handbasket. She stopped actively missing those luxuries and only thought about it whenever she fixed her hair in the morning or went out to the pub with the Commandos.

"I like your hair. I looks nice when its long," Lila complimented. Art grinned as she finished the braid and reached up to yank the hairband out of her own hair. She tied off the plait and ran her fingers over it to make sure there wasn't a hair out of place.

"Thank you, Lila," Art replied as the girl turned around with a grin on her face. "I like your hair, too. It's very soft and looks lovely when it's braided." Lila giggled and ran back to the couch, diving onto the cushion between her parents. Clint rustled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head as she giggled and wriggled in his embrace. He grinned and chuckled, ducking his head to blow a raspberry on the side of her neck. She squealed and managed to wrestle her way out of her arms, launching herself at Laura for refuge.

Clint grinned at his wife and daughter, relaxing back into the couch. He then looked over at Art, brows pinching together. He jutted a thumb towards the stairs in the front hall. "I heard your phone ringing earlier."

"Really?" Art asked, brows pinched together. She didn't really get phone calls; she didn't know enough people to warrant being terribly popular. Tony only ever texted her, Nat preferred to just show up at her door, she and Steve were usually together so there was no need to use phones, and Clint had the common courtesy to call since he knew she wasn't confident in her texting skills yet.

"It chirped again, so I think whoever it was left a message."

"Thanks for telling me; I'll be right back."

"Awesome––we'll start on the next Star Wars movie when you're back!" Clint called after her as she left the room.

Art jogged up the stairs, smiled at Cooper who was hunched over the desk in his room, and slipped into the guest bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and snatched the phone off the bedside table. Clicking the circle at the bottom of the screen, it lit up and revealed who the missed call was from. The residual smile that had been on her slips slowly slipped away when she read the name.

_**(1)**_ _**Missed Call from Steve Rogers**_

_**(1)**_ _**Voice Mail from Steve Rogers**_

Art pressed her thumb against the screen harder than necessary, slid it across slowly, and then tapped in her code too hard. She pulled up the option to listen to the message and gnawed on her lip. Her thumb hovered over the screen. Sooner or later they were going to talk. Art would return to New York and they would have to sit down and talk about what had happened. But there was still an apprehensiveness in her system that made her hesitant to open up the voicemail. She knew there wouldn't be anything nasty in whatever message he had left, but maybe she feared what heartfelt words may be waiting for her. Slowly, she tapped the screen and it switched to a different to display to let her know she was now able to listen. She raised the phone up to her ear and leaned forward against her knees.

"_Hey, Artie… It's Steve. You… probably already figured that out, though… caller identification is a thing, now…_" His recorded voice sounded tired and downtrodden, and it made her chest start to ache. "_I, uh, thought I should call and… and talk. I'm… sorry for insinuating that you didn't understand what I'm going through. It was a snap judgement I had made and decided to stick with._" A chuckle sounded, humorless and tired. "_We used to pride ourselves on our communication… What happened there?_" Art smiled sadly and leaned her cheek into the palm of her free hand. "_There's a lot more I should say, but I can't really find the words right now. When you get back, we should talk… work all of this out, 'cause I don't want it to keep dragging on. I, uh… hope you're well, wherever you are. Can't wait till you're home. Love you. Bye._"

A minute after the message had ended, Art pulled the phone away from her ear. She brought it to softly rest against her lips, the light of the screen eventually dying before going completely black. She stared at a singular point of the wall, eyes going unfocused as she became lost in thought. She'd been having such a pleasant time she had momentarily thought that, soon, she would have to go back and deal with what she had fled from. If Art could hazard a guess, the conversation that would resolve the conflict would go much like the ones that they'd had when they were discussing battle strategy. They would discuss everything carefully, searching for the right words to use whilst probing the sensitive subject. It was something they needed to learn how to discuss, and with time, it was likely the conversations would become less stiff backed and more personal.

"Love you, too, Steve," Art murmured against the screen of her phone, as though he could hear her. She set the phone aside and dragged both hands over her face, sighing heavily into her palms. Casting her eyes to the mobile device, Art contemplated listening to the message again. Just as her hand reached out for it, she heart someone jog halfway up the steps.

"Hey, Artie! We've just made popcorn, are you about ready to come down?" Clint called up to her. Art retracted her hand and instead massaged the side of her neck.

"Yeah! I'll be down in a second."

"Fantastic; you won't _believe_ what happens in the Empire Strikes Back!"

_**Afterword:**_ _Here is the next installment; sorry it took so long to get up, school really swamped me with work this semester. I plan on moving on to Winter Soldier very soon, which I am super excited for. Some of the stuff I initially wanted to write will be put off till later, but you'll get to see it all eventually!_

_Review replies!_

**KoreanMusicFan:** _The beginning of this chapter was from Steve's POV; I will do more of it in Winter Soldier, and plan on using it more than I have been. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _I thought that what with Clint and Art being so close he'd trust her with knowing about his family. She __**is**_ _rather good with keeping secrets after all. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**darkc ben:** _Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the new one!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _I really like exploring Clint and Artie's relationship. They seem very sibling-like together, and I love writing that. The resolve will come soon, but it's gonna be a bit rough. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**shadowhuntingdemigod:** _I thought that it was necessary for Artie to have a list, too; the One Direction thing was something I thought of one day that spurred the idea of her list. I'm glad the dream read well––it was a last minute idea that I inserted in different spots in the chapter, hoping to find the right spot to place it. I wanted to bring Bucky into it, as he will be reappearing soon; gotta get those emotions up and running! Art and Clint have a good dynamic, and that'll show when we get into the second Avengers film. I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _I'm really glad you've been enjoying the story so much! I like throwing in these kinds of chapters that help everyone delve into Art's character/life more; shows that there's more to her life than just fighting and whatnot. I'm also very happy that she isn't coming off as static. That is, by far, my biggest fear. And the Bucky feels are real and will continue to be real. Since he's showing up again soon, I'm trying to keep him in the story through flashbacks (as Bucky Barnes) so when we see him as the Winter Soldier, it's a stark difference and all the more feels-y. I'm very glad you enjoyed the previous chapter; I hope you enjoyed the newest one as well! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _Ahahaha, I understand! I sometimes forget what I wrote in the previous chapter and have to go back and reread what I'd written. I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**Guest:** _I always wanna hug Steve; he just always seems like an injured puppy. I've got some stuff planned for later on that's only gonna enhance the need to embrace him. Such plans… I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**anonymouscsifan:** _I don't really see Artie as one for making too dramatic of an exit. The militaristic snark, though, was completely up her alley. Steve's definitely lost sleep over the fight, and he'll slowly come to realize that Artie just has a talent for bonding with men. She would have had to what with all of her time spent in the military in the forties. And I think that writing these chapters have really led me on an analysis of Steve's character. 'Cause I feel like he does struggle with the choice of being Steve Rogers or Captain America; we see that at the end of Age of Ultron, when he says that he's 'at home' at the New Avengers Facility. How he thinks the man that wanted family and a normal life was left buried in the ice. It's interesting to look into, and interesting to attempt to reason out through writing. I enjoy rambling :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _The little vacation was a good thing for Artie to do; she really needed the chance to escape everything for a little while, cool off and relax and all that. Steve probably will have his own version of Art's little getaway at some point. I initially was going to have him speak with Nat, but then I thought it would be a good opportunity to have him talk to Kenny, which is a chance to build up their relationship. He and Nat will have some good chats later on, though. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**LMarie99:** _I'm glad you enjoyed the previous chapter! Hope you enjoyed this one just as much; thanks again!  
_**RJNorth:** _I really enjoyed writing the dream, which is a terrible thing to say because it was so horrible. I just… __**really**_ _like writing emotional moments, good and bad. It gives so much room to describe and I love it. I'm glad that introducing Clint's family went well, I was worried some of it was rushed or weird. And I've always adored Clint, I never understood why people hated on him so much at first. His comics are amazing, and I love referencing them. Next chapter we'll see her doing more chore-like things before she heads off to go home. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**CJ/OddBall:** _Clint and Artie are the bestest of friends! They're gonna have a number of inside jokes when they get back––especially Star Wars related ones. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**FizzWizz2011:** _I hope you enjoyed the chapter as much as the last ones! Thanks again!_

**AriellaSerenity:** _I'm very glad that everything seems realistic and relatable. I think that focusing on the smaller issues––for no matter how short a time––really makes the story. It's not always about the aliens and the threatened world; there are always issues that are more constant and always coincide. Like Art's PTSD, the guilt that she refuses to let go, those sorts of things. Thank you very much for taking the time to read my story! And for taking the time to leave a thoughtful reply; it makes me very happy to know that people enjoy consuming what I write. I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter; thanks again!_

**alysage27:** _I'm very, very happy that the characters have remained true to their characterizations! I'm also very happy that you've been enjoying reading the story so far; and I also hope that you enjoyed the new chapter. Thanks again!_

**KMB:** _Clint is beginning to fill the 'hole' that Bucky left behind. Their relationships are very similar. I cannot express how happy I am that you have been keeping up with the curiosity of her 'mental state.' The German order actually will be brought up again, so keep an eye out for that. I can't give too much away, but I'm very glad that you've made all the observations and speculations you have; you've been reading carefully! ;) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

_**And to those who have added this story to follows/favorites, thank you! It means a lot to me!**_

_**And that's it for now! The next chapter we'll start rolling on getting into Winter Soldier. It's high time we see Bucky again! It'll be a feels trip, but we'll all be on it together. And Civil War is coming out very soon, so, my soul is going to be destroyed. I can't wait.**_

_**I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again for taking the time to read! You all rock!**_

_**~Mary**_


	25. Clearing the Channels

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

25\. Clearing the Channels

Sweat rolled down Art's spine and her hands continuously pushed at the thick black rubber. Her palms were coated in dirt and grime, but it wasn't anything she was terribly unused to. Laura had mentioned that some time ago they'd had to replace the tire of one of their tractors in the middle of a nearby field, and that the original tire had been laying there ever since. They weren't talking about a small tire like the ones off a far. It was a massive thing that came up to shoulder height and weighed more than, if not close to, Steve and Thor's weight put together. It was too heavy for Clint or herself to move by themselves. They had been content to leave it where it was till they could spare the time to hook it up to the back of the tractor and tow it out, but Art had decided they wouldn't have to wait. She could do a lot, but lifting the heavy tire was a bit out of her skill set. So, instead, she treated it like she was hoop rolling––she was the stick and the tire was the bicycle rim.

It had been four days since she had come to the Barton's farm, and Art felt significantly better. She would be leaving by late afternoon, and the least that she could do was help out around the house for a little bit. Repay the hospitality as best she could. She had split firewood the previous day, helping them stock up for the upcoming winter, and she'd even started helping Clint with his renovation work on the porch balusters. A quarter of them had officially been replaced and painted. She had also assisted Cooper with some of his homework and did arts and crafts with Lila before promptly falling asleep with her on the couch. Art felt almost fully rested, though she'd been awoken by a nightmare or two, and she felt like she could face New York again. Face Steve again. Besides, Fury had called and informed her that, while her little vacation was nice, S.H.I.E.L.D. was going to need her back in action soon.

Art ran round to the front of the tire and pressed her back against the warm rubber. She began to carefully maneuver it down a small hill just beside the barn, where she would leave the tire be. The heels of her boots dug into earth as she inched herself and the tire down the slope. A grunt passed Art's lips as she slipped a few more inches than she had wanted to. After a solid minute of descending the hill, she returned to pushing the tire to its destination. Once it was there, she exhaled and pushed at it, letting it flop over heftily. Both hands flew to her hips and her head lolled backwards, baring her face to the mid-morning sun. Her breathing was heavy and her muscles were aching.

"That was worse than boot camp…" Art panted to herself. A voice in the back of her head––that sounded suspiciously like Bucky's––snorted and told her to stop being dramatic. Boot camp had been _significantly_ more challenging, on multiple different levels.

"You finally got that thing out of the field!" Clint exclaimed from the porch. Art turned on her heel, regarded him silently for a moment, and then started towards the house. He was wearing paint splotched jeans and a ragged flannel shirt over an equally abused t-shirt, both of which were covered in old oil and grease stains. That was another thing that Art had appreciated about her time at the farm––she got to see a side of Clint that suited him very well. She got to see him as a father, as a husband, as Clint Barton without the alias Hawkeye pinned on in association.

"Thought I'd do you a favor," she called back. Art planted one hand on the top of the wooden fence that separated the field from the house and easily launched herself over it. She wobbled a bit on the landing, her thighs still quivering unpleasantly from the effort it had taken to get the tire down the hill. "But I'll tell you something, I _barely_ got it back. The serum did a lot, but I sure ain't as strong as the Hulk."

"Regardless, thank you," Clint said with a bright smile. Art returned the smile, which froze when she saw Clint reach a hand around his back, brushing his flannel shirt aside. Her hand whipped the back of her own jeans, yanking out the hand held nerf gun that she had taken to toting around the farm. In an instant she aimed it at the sharpshooter and fired, the foam dart launching across the distance between them. It smacked Clint square in the chest. Art grinned. "Damn. You're quick."

"The bow is your weapon. The gun, even if it's flimsy and made of brightly colored plastic, is mine." Art fished a dart out of her back pocket and loaded it into the toy gun with a smirk on her face. Clint had initiated impromptu Nerf battles and face-offs once she had found one of Cooper's nerf guns hidden under the couch. She proved that she still operated with military precision, even if it _was_ with a toy gun.

"You've got me there." Clint leaned against the porch railing, head cocked to the side. "You ready to head back later?"

Art turned her back to him and leaned back against the porch, rubbing her dirt covered hands off on her jeans. She looked at the rolling expanse of field and forest, a smile quirking up one corner of her mouth. "Yeah. Fury said I'll be needed back soon and, uh… Steve and I have got some stuff to talk about…" She glanced down at her shoes, but then raised her gaze and beamed out at the scenery. "But I'll miss it here. It's beautiful."

"Well, you can make visits with Nat; we'd all be thrilled to have you drop by," Clint assured, reaching down to squeeze her shoulder. Art smiled and relished the warm breeze that swept over her sweat covered face. Her eyes fell shut and she started to recall memories that she had long since forgotten about. Art recalled nights, back in the tent she and Bucky had shared, where she had started to picture life after the war. What her life with Steve could potentially be like. Many a night had consisted of beautiful hopes, much like the dream she'd had whilst coming out of Loki's control. It was difficult to acknowledge that such dreams had to be contorted in order for them to still be plausible-there were things they could have had and done in the forties that they could no longer do in the modern era; and vice-versa, she supposed. But, ultimately, those dreams still stood, and she was keeping a tight hold on them. They had given her hope once before. They could give her hope once again.

Art scrubbed the dirt and grime off her hands in the kitchen sink, utilizing the gardener's soap that sat in a little porcelain dish in the window just above the wash basin. It smelled of lemon and made her feel as though she hadn't even touched the massive tire. Her elbow nudged an empty bowl beside the sink, which had contained a mountain of buttery popcorn the night before. They had finished watching the original Star Wars trilogy the previous evening, Laura and Clint taking unadulterated joy in watching Art's reactions to every twist and turn. Clint claimed to have covertly had Laura film her reaction to the twist at the end of The Empire Strikes Back. It had involved a lot of loud exclamations of Art's behalf, hand thrown out towards the television screen as Luke Skywalker screamed in horror and pain. She hadn't felt so surprised at a movie in her life, and she had openly admitted it. Clint had guffawed loudly at her reaction, almost crying at the denials that fled from her mouth. Once the film had ended Art wholeheartedly assured Clint she would watch the prequels and get Steve interested in the the franchise, if only to film _his_ reaction to the Empire Strikes Back.

"Are you ready to go home?" Laura asked kindly. Art looked over her shoulder and smiled gently, nudging the water off with her elbow.

"I think so, yeah. I'm properly relaxed, now, and I think things have calmed down enough that Steve and I can properly converse on the situation without lapsing back into a shouting match," Art informed, rubbing the water off her hands with a dish towel. Laura nodded and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, leaning her arms atop the back of it casually.

"It's good that you took a step back from it all; if you hadn't it could've led to more problems. Clint and I… we've had our arguments. It's hard not to, with the life he leads…" Laura's smile became vaguely sad, likely recalling a previous fight. "We've learned that if you _don't_ take a step back, the fight tends prolong itself. It's good to know when to back away from a fight."

Laura's last words meant more to Art than she knew. There were times where the soldier often thought back to situations where it _would_ have been best to back away-the mission on the train and the time she'd insisted on talking to Loki to name a few. Sometimes 'fighting the good fight' meant not fighting at all; and, honestly, that was a lesson she still needed to learn. Art smiled at Laura thankfully before she pointed to an overturned bowl on the kitchen table.

"I, uh, stayed up last night to make some cookies, I hope you don't mind. I want to repay your hospitality as best I can; they were made with one of my Aunt's recipes. She was a fantastic baker, and I thought you all might appreciate them. I've noticed that the Barton family has _quite_ a sweet tooth," Art observed with a smirk and a laugh. Laura removed the bowl from atop the plate and plucked one of the cookies off the pile. She smiled at Art and gestured to the soldier with the pastry pinched between her fingers.

"You're welcome to drop by anytime, Art." She bit into the cookie, let her brows scrunch up, and then waved it through the air. "And, please, make these every time you stop in." Art laughed, head lolling backwards as the amused sound reverberated in her chest. Returning her head to its proper position, she grinned and nodded.

"I agree on the condition that you help me defeat Clint in a nerf war; we tagged teamed him pretty good yesterday."

Laura laughed heartily. The previous evening, just after watching the Return of the Jedi, Art and Laura had shot at Clint from behind the protection of the couch, earning shouts of protest. Clint chalked up his scrambling reaction to get to a Nerf gun to the few beers he'd had whilst watching the movie. The two women had claimed victory for the evening. Laura thrust her hand outwards, palm open for a handshake. Art pushed away from the sink and accepted the proffered handshake, beaming all the while. With eyes gleaming in mischievous glee, Laura grinned up at the soldier. "You've got yourself a deal, Lieutenant."

OOOO

Clint pulled the matte black car up in front of Art's apartment building just as the sky was shifting from a lilac purple to a rich blue. The two occupants of the vehicle hopped out and grabbed a bag each from the back seat. Art made sure to grab the lovingly drawn picture Lila had given her from atop the bag, carrying it carefully so it wouldn't become crinkled. Clint handed her the second duffle bag once she rounded the bumper of the car, not before he hugged her, though. Art returned the embrace tightly, smiling over his shoulder and into the dying sunlight.

"I can't thank you enough, Clint," she said as they drew back. She slung the strap of the bag over her shoulder and started fishing her keys out of her pocket. The sharpshooter waved a hand through the air, a smile growing on his lips. He shoved both hands into his pockets and smiled at his friend.

"Anytime, Lieu. You sure you don't want help bringing your stuff upstairs?" he offered, nodding to the door. Art shook her head, glancing up at the window of her apartment. Her smile became softer, noticing the soft glow of the living room lamp through the thin curtains.

"No, I'm good. I'll catch you later, Clint. Don't be a stranger any time you're in the city; I can't have my favorite drinking and training buddy skipping out on me," Art playfully teased, beginning to walk towards the apartment building. Clint grinned and laughed boisterously, leaning on the open driver's side door.

"Don't have to worry 'bout me doing that! May the Force be with you!" Clint saluted with a crooked grin, clearly relishing the way Art laughed as she nearly tripped up the steps. She returned the salute, keys jangling from where she clutched them in her hand.

"May the Force be with you."

Despite the fact the apartment had never truly felt completely homey, a sense of comfort washed over Art when she stepped through the door. She kicked off her boots and nudged them aside, noticing a familiar face dart out from the kitchen. He was watching her with a look filled with an emotion she couldn't quite pinpoint. But it was definitely something he felt strongly about.

"You're back," stated Steve. Art set her bags down and delicately placed Lila's drawing atop them. She slid both hands along the sides of her thighs, nodding at Steve words, which hung in the air like a gentle perfume.

"I am," she agreed. Silence dragged on between them, and a wailing siren somewhere in the distance sliced through it sharply. Art tucked hair behind her ears and casually stuffed her hands into her pockets. The atmosphere in the room edged on unbearably awkward and undeniably tense. Her four days of absence had allowed them time to think, yes, but it had also filled them with apprehension about how their next conversation would go. A very small smile tugged at the corners of Steve's mouth, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. It was a look that made Art's stomach twist and prompted her to duck her head so she wouldn't unwittingly break out into a smile.

"I'm glad." There was genuine happiness in his voice, a warmth that, like his smile, made Art want to grin. Silence again filled the room. Neither one of them exactly knew how to start the conversation they both knew needed to be had. Feeling quite selfish, Art wanted Steve to start; she would fully admit to that. "So… where did you go?"

"Upstate," Art said after a proper beat of silence. She and Clint had agreed on said location, just in case Steve questioned Clint in his role on her weekend off. "Stayed at a nice little bed and breakfast and got away from the noise."

Steve, who stood just beside the couch, ran his hand along the back of it in a contemplative gesture. "I'm… sorry for what I said." His brows pinched together in serious thought, gaze sliding to the rug beneath his bare feet. His gaze lifted from the floor and met hers without too much hesitation, and Art bravely stared right back. Art moved towards the couch, bringing herself to sit against the back of it, her bottom perched atop the tops of the tan back cushions. Steve followed suit, bracing both hands firmly planted on either side of his legs.

"I know you are," Art replied, picking at a stray thread in the side hem of her jeans. Looking over at the man beside her, one corner of her mouth twitched upwards. "And so am I."

"Between the two of us, you probably understand what I feel the best. You… you gave up your true identity to join the military, you fought with being two different people… and I guess you still do… I shouldn't have insinuated that you knew nothing about… about all of _this_." Steve waved a hand through the air, as though their problems were physically hiding somewhere in the apartment. A sigh slipped from between his lips, and he dragged his hand over his face. Art realized, then, that he looked exhausted. His hair was rumpled, there were faint discolored circles under his eyes, and his eyelids seemed to droop a little more than they naturally did. Reaching out, she slowly placed her hand atop his, curling her fingers over his knuckles, happy to feel their familiar warmth again. Steve looked towards her, brows still pinched together.

"You wouldn't have known how much I struggled, I suppose. I… kept a lot of it to myself," she admitted. "The struggle of having to find the balance between Artemesia Knoll and, not Arthur Kensington, but, Lieutenant Liberty… I never wanted to burden anyone with it… not you, Clint, Nat, or Tony… I felt like it was something I was supposed to figure out on my own. It's a bad habit." A wry laugh passed through her lips, and she reached up to scratch at the back of her head with her free hand. "And I really shouldn't have pried like I did, Steve, I'm sorry. If you didn't want to talk about it, I should have respected that."

Beneath her fingers, Steve rotated his hand so their palms met. He stretched out his fingers and laced them between Art's, giving them a gentle squeeze as he did so. Her lips quirked to the side, eyes still cast towards their hands. The mood in the room had settled, and most of the tension had slipped away; the air felt more bearable, more comfortable. Steve's thumb swept over the knuckle of her pointer finger softly, a tentative chuckle passing through his lips.

"I guess we're clearing the communication channels, huh?"

Art laughed just as softly as Steve had and shook their hands fondly. She looked over at him with a twinkle in her eye. "It's just like trying to clear static off the channels of the handie-talkies." Steve grinned and shook his head, recalling the hand-held devices that they'd toted around with them throughout the war.

"Remember the time we couldn't get hold of Bucky?" Steve asked with a bright smile. Despite the long list of such situations, she knew exactly what Steve was referring to, so she laughed and nodded.

"We were hiding behind a fallen tree in France, tracking a HYDRA patrol. We weren't wearing suitable clothing for the snow and cold… we were freezing… and we didn't know if Bucky would be able to make the shot and kill the leader…" Art began to recall. Steve nodded his agreement, beaming a bit wider as he remembered the worse-case scenario playing out.

"And just as _you_ were about to make the call and take the shot for yourself…"

"He finally got the signal, radioed in, and the feedback drew the attention of the patrol, and we lost our advantage. Yeah, I remember," she laughed, head dropping to the side.

The two soldiers lapsed into silence. Smiles lingered on their lips and almost all of the tension had slipped away. It was then that Art realized that Bing Crosby was playing softly in the background, filling the warmly lit room with familiar strains of music. In the gentleness of the moment, in the wake of their reconciliation, Steve reached out and wrapped Art in his arms. Returning the embrace, Art tucked her head into the crook of Steve's neck. Inhaling deeply, she was greeted with his familiar scent, one that had always been comforting to her, even back in the day; she didn't think she would ever get tired of the way Steve smelled, even if the scent had altered slightly what with the new products he used. A hand slipped over the back of her head, smoothing out her hair, and a realization slowly washed over her. This was the first proper embrace they'd had in a considerable amount of time. Once Steve had started to retreat within himself, and once tensions had begun to rise between them, the physical aspect of their relationship had taken a back seat. Art tightened her arms around the blonde soldier in her arms, and he returned the gesture.

Drawing back only slightly, Art craned her head upwards and gently kissed Steve. It was exceedingly soft and relatively short; when she opened her eyes and allowed her gaze to slide upwards, she smiled. Steve's brows were slightly pinched, his eyes were still shut, and his lips were parted a fraction. If she'd had the means to do so, Art would have taken a picture. His eyelids flicked open to reveal his baby blues, an inquiring look gleaming in them.

"I don't think I deserved that," he murmured, while one hand slipped down to her waist. Art playfully pinched her own brows and offered a mock quizzical look.

"Who said that was for you?" she teased, voice quiet. Steve grinned and recreated her previous affectionate action, gently capturing her lips with his. Art's hand snuck up to his cheek, caressing it with a feather-light touch.

"Then that one was for me," Steve decided playfully, once he'd drawn away. Art smiled and shut both eyes, dropping her head against Steve's shoulder. She recalled the first hug that they'd ever shared, in the cool dampness of the ammunitions tent. Steve's embraces always proved to be warm and comforting, calming her down in even the most stressful situations. One of her hand slipped to the back of his neck, her thumb sweeping across his skin. The hand at Art's waist slipped to her lower back, pulling her closer to the blonde soldier's body. Gravity seemed to shift and Art felt a soft impact; their weight had shifted so much that they'd ended up sliding over the back of the couch and onto the cushions.

Art instinctively shifted so she was snuggled into Steve's side with one of her arms draped over his middle. She felt herself pulled closer to him as an arm curled around her waist, a second hand lovingly sliding up and down her side. She could feel each of Steve's fingertips graze across the fabric of her shirt, which drew a pleased hum from her chest. Her own fingers curled into the fabric of Steve's shirt, feeling completely contented with the way the situation had turned.

"We should talk over dinner…" Art murmured into Steve's neck. He hummed his agreement, a hand slipping down the side of her leg, stopping at her knee, and traveling back upwards.

They still had a lot to talk about and smooth over. There was a lot of ground that needed to be covered and it was likely that they would be up till the early hours of the morning talking. The issues wouldn't fix themselves overnight, but they could start laying the groundwork. However, neither of them wanted move away from their isolated little world on the couch. Their fighting had caused them to drift apart, and they found themselves sharply pulled back together now that apologies had been spoken. All they did was lay there, silently, soaking in the other's presence. Art felt a kiss placed against her temple, lingering and gentle; a repeated apology. Art flattened her hand atop Steve's chest and started to rub soothing lines across his stomach. In the background, Bing Crosby continued to sing, and the typical nightly sirens wailed in the distance. Everything finally felt right again. Art sighed contentedly and snuggled her head into the crook of Steve's neck.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, Artie?"

"I love you," Art whispered against his neck. She felt him curl his second arm around her, pulling her closer than she had been a minute ago. One of his hands then smoothed itself over the back of her head, gently threading his fingers through her hair.

"Love you, too."

_**Afterword:**_ _**I meant to get this chapter up two weeks ago, when I saw Civil War for the first time (I was in the UK, so I got to see it a week early). I've just gotten back to the US, though, and I finally found a moment to finish up the chapter, after seeing Civil War for the third time! I'm not sure how well the apology scene is; I've never been good at writing them. I'm better with drama and emotion I think, ahaha!**_

_**Review replies!**_

**shadowhunting dauntless demigod:** _CAWS will be here after next chapter––or the set-up for it will begin at least :) There will be more scenes between Kenny and Steve, 'cause I really like writing them together; I always like writing their dynamic because it's so unique. Because Steve is older, but Kenny's lived longer, so it's an interesting role reversal. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _I think it's important to explore everyone's relationships; it adds an extra depth to the story and allows different characters the chance to interact. I really can't wait to get Bucky back into the picture, 'cause I just __**love**_ _writing him, and I'll get to write a brand new side of him! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**LeopardFeather:** _I'm very glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and hope that you enjoyed this one as well! Thanks again!_

**darck ben:** _I would have to give it some thought, as I've only worked with two or so OCs before. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _I'm continuously flattered to hear that you consider this one of your favorite Capt. America story! I'm really working on making sure Steve and Artie are considered separate people. That's why Artie gets her own fights, her own issues, and why she and Steve are closer to different people. I really love writing Artie and Bucky's relationship; I look for every proper opportunity to use a flashback to show their relationship, and have considered a couple times writing a short story about their time before Steve showed up. I think that Bucky accepting Art for who she is, is one of the reasons I love their relationship so much, too. To him, she was always like his sibling––brother or sister didn't matter, they were always very close. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**grapejuice101:** _I think that Artie has the potential to be a big Star Wars nerd. I feel like she'd really immerse herself in the story and she'll drag Steve along with her. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**PorcelinePuppetLady:** _I'm really happy you enjoy the story so much! I really love knowing that people––like you––get so excited when there's a new chapter. It keeps me writing :) And I just googled it… and I giggled a little bit! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**The girl with no life:** _I thought it was important to see how both of them were dealing with their little break. We're gonna start the setup for Winter Soldier after next chapter; they'll be in D.C., they'll be meeting Pierce, and they'll be headed out on missions! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**beckychelle:** _Here's the update! Hope you enjoyed!_

**weasleylover10:** _I'm glad that the last handful of chapters have been fun to read! 'Cause I always worry people will get bored when I go off on my own little tangents; I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**anonymouscsifan:** _The time apart did do them good; now they're gonna work things out and everything will start going back to normal. The struggle between being heroes and being themselves will continue, however, 'cause that's a tough struggle to be part of. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**RJNorth:** _I love all the love Clint is getting in the past few movies––he deserves it all and so much more. He's a ball of sass and love and sweetness that deserves all of the praise and hugs! I've said it before and I'll say it again––I love writing Steve and Kenny interact, there's always something interesting to unearth in their interactions. I will be starting WS after next chapter, which will tie up this part of the story with a nice little bow; and I saw Cap 3 and loved it––seen it three times, come last night! I've got so many ideas that I cannot wait to write! I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**KMB:** _WS has been a long time coming, and with good reason––I've been setting up some stuff that'll be important once the movie begins ;) I'm very glad that you enjoyed the scenes with Clint's family; I do wish they had spent more time developing the Barton family, and I had fun taking an opportunity to do it here. I may write a one-shot depicting Artie's exact reaction to Empire Strikes Back, 'cause I've got a vision in my mind that's just too funny! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**AmethystSiri:** _I hope you enjoyed the chapter, just like you have with the rest of the story! Thanks again!_

**Guest:** _Life held me back from writing for a bit––I had a death in the family, a handful of finals for school, and I might be moving house soon. But I'm back and ready to write! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

**KMB (second review):** _Again, I must say, you have made many astute observations! I was really excited when they brought up command words in Civil War, 'cause that's giving me some more fuel to some plot stuff that'll be popping up soon. Also, I cannot say how flattered I am that you were thinking about Artie/this story whilst watching the film! It makes me grin like an idiot! Thanks again, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!_

_**And thank you to those that have added this story to follows/favorites; it means a lot!**_

_**So, guys, next chapter will wrap up this chapter of Steve and Artie's story. As I'm like to do, the Winter Soldier story will be put in a separate story, just as this one was separate from First Avenger. I'm really excited to start getting into the stuff I've got planned for Winter Soldier, as it starts to get a bit darker; I really hope you guys are excited and still enjoying the story! Thanks again for taking the time to read! You all rock!**_

_**~Mary**_


	26. A Promise Upheld

_Disclaimer:_ _I do not own the Avengers (the comics, movies, characters etc.) or any of the characters; I only own my OC Art._

26\. A Promise Upheld

A week had passed since Art's return to New York. In that time, Art and Steve had talked through many of their problems and resolved a good handful of them, if not most of them. The tension they'd become accustomed to had completely melted away, leaving none of it left in their small apartment, which they would soon be moving out of. Fury had informed the two soldiers that they would be better suited moving to Washington D.C., where S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters was located. They were assured they wouldn't be called away for a mission until they'd arrived in D.C.; that essentially meant they should expect to be ready for field work the minute they set foot in the nation's capital. A good portion of their apartment was packed, seeing as they didn't have much of their own stuff to pack. They weren't taking the furniture, so all they needed to store away was personal items, kitchenware, and clothes. Neither Art nor Steve had lived anywhere other than New York City and the borough they'd grown up in––Manhattan for Art and Brooklyn for Steve. It was bittersweet. They were leaving a place that they'd made so many memories in and, in one way or another, had impacted just as it had impacted them.

Art pushed herself into a sitting position, sweeping sleep rumpled hair out of her eyes. For the first time in a very long time she had slept in, and it had felt glorious; she hadn't even woken up when Steve had gotten out of bed. A glance at the clock on the bedside table told her she'd slept in till ten, which was a fantastic accomplishment. Both her hands braced themselves against the mattress, giving her just enough leverage to push herself into a righted position. Sleep rumpled hair slouched into her eyes, obscuring her vision in thin tendrils. Just as she folded back the sky-blue blankets, Steve walked in with both hands clasped behind his back. He was beaming for one reason or another, slowly pacing towards the bed till he could sit down on the edge. Art raised an eyebrow, yawned and then scrunched her hair up whilst contemplating whether or not to tie it back.

"Why are you so chipper?" she asked groggily. From behind his back, Steve produced a long, thin rectangle, and proffered it to her. After rubbing the heel of her palm against her eye, Art slowly accepted what she'd been offered, and held it in her hands gingerly. It was a Hershey's chocolate bar. Steve slipped further onto the bed, braced one hand on the mattress behind her, and kissed her temple.

"Happy birthday," he replied softly, smile matching his tone. His eyes were twinkling with a happiness that had once been so rare to see at the beginning of their modern adventures. The vague twinge of confusion she'd had turned to understanding in a quick moment. She listed into Steve's side, a smile quirking up the corners of her mouth. The chocolate bar was suddenly so much more than a chocolate bar.

"_Happy birthday, Pretty-Boy!" called out Bucky, flopping down beside his fellow Sergeant in the mess tent. Art's brows arched and then scrunched together, looking between Steve and Bucky with a rapid flick of her eyes. Bucky was grinning a bright, boyish grin that lit up his whole face. Steve's smile was a little more reserved, but none the less excited, and was directed at her from across the table._

"_Is it?" she asked. ould it be June already? It couldn't be. It was mid May last she had bothered to check. Art tapped her fingers sequentially atop the table, mentally counting the days that had passed since the last time she'd actively looked at a calendar. Her eyes, which had been cast somewhere to the side, widened and her fingers froze. She realized that she had, in fact, forgotten it was her birthday. To her credit, there had been more pressing issues––like the war, HYDRA, and keeping up her façade around the remainder of the one-oh-seventh that didn't know her identity. Those were fairly good reasons to not be keeping track of the days. "Oh. I guess it is my birthday, isn't it?"_

_Bucky looped an arm around her neck, hauled her into his side, and grinned down at her boyishly.; he then grasped his wrist with his free hand to create a loose but locked hold around her. He hadn't changed the way he'd acted around her after discovering she was a woman, and for that Art was forever thankful. She wouldn't have changed their dynamic for the world. They were like siblings. Her size disadvantage often meant he could haul and jostle her around as much as he pleased, which made him the older 'sibling,' which was fitting, because he was, in fact, older than her. Art made a bit of a show trying to escape his hold, tugging at his arm as she leaned to the side. Bucky merely laughed and tugged her closer."That it is, Artie! That it is!"_

"_How do you forget your own birthday?" Steve laughed, leaning his elbows atop the table. He was dressed casually in a green jacket and white shirt, a look that he hadn't been sporting often; a look that he looked undeniably handsome in, despite what he may protest. Art snorted and tugged herself out of Bucky's grasp, fixing her shirt collar, which had become rumpled and popped on one side. She fixed Steve with a wry look and leaned towards him from across the table. One of her brows was cocked upwards and her lips were fighting to keep a smirk at bay, evident by the twitching that was being made at the corners._

"_Says Mister 'I-Was-Born-On-The-Fourth-Of-July.' That's a hard date to forget, ace."_

_Steve chuckled and arched a brow playfully. "Well, you know what, Kensington?"_

"_Hey, hey, hey!" Bucky jokingly placated, jumping off the bench to sit on the edge of the table. He had one hand splayed out in front of either 'combatant,' grinning at his two friends. "Let's keep this day, which twenty-whatever years ago brought us Arthur Kensington and his __**lovely**_ _twin sister Artemesia," Bucky winked, "as combat free as possible, okay?" Bucky angled himself so he was facing Art, only half of his bottom perched atop the table. "Now, Artie, we don't have permission to leave camp tonight, so we can't go to the pub. That means we can't get good food, can't get ourselves a couple of pints, and we can't go see a picture. We'll just have to do all that next time we go out. __**But,**_ _in the meantime…" He raised his eyebrows at Steve, who extracted something from his pocket. It was wrapped in wax, which was crinkled and torn at the edges. He passed it off to Bucky with a smile, and their dark haired friend, who proudly winked Steve's way, proffered her whatever it was in the wrapping._

_Art reached out and took the wax paper and its contents, cradling it in her palm for a moment before she unwrapped it. Inside was a hunk of chocolate, a portion of what had once been part of a larger bar. She stared at it, mouth already beginning to water. Chocolate was a precious commodity for all of them. It was hard to come by in camp, and whenever someone had some, it was coveted and eaten sparingly._

"_It's not much, but…" Bucky shrugged and leaned his forearms atop his knees._

"_We know you love chocolate," Steve laughed, smiling brightly. Art grinned and immediately went about breaking off three uneven pieces. She passed a piece to Bucky, and then one to Steve, holding up her own shard of chocolate in front of her, as though it was the sacramental bread given at Communion._

"_It's the best gift I could ask for. Thank you, guys, really." Art popped the chocolate into her mouth and hummed, leaning her cheek into her hand. "Oh, god, that's delicious. Just don't tell Jim I've got this––he'd steal it right out from under me, birthday present or not."_

"_Don't worry, Sarge, we've got your back," Bucky said with a grin, chewing on his own piece of chocolate. He patted her shoulder and hopped off the table. "We always do."_

"It's not much, but…" Steve trailed off. Art grinned and slouched sideways and into Steve's chest.

"You know that I love chocolate," she finished, turning the chocolate bar over-and-over in her hands. Steve's arms curled around her midsection, chin falling to rest atop her shoulder; Art leaned back into his chest and let her fingers skim over the glossy packaging. "Thank you."

"_And_ since we don't have to wait for a specific day to go out on the town like we used to… I'd like to take you out tonight," Steve informed. Art's lips twitched up at the corners and she turned her head towards Steve. Their noses nearly brushed and her smile grew into a bright grin.

"Like a date?"

Steve beamed at her and tightened his arms around her, forehead tilting forward so it rested against hers. "Exactly like a date. The first date we should have had."

Art set the chocolate aside and shifted around so she could wind her arms around Steve's neck. She threaded her fingers through Steve's newly shortened hair; the haircut looked good on him, she had to admit, though she would miss the side-flick. Steve had mentioned that cutting his hair had been his equivalent of her starting to regularly wear jeans. It was his way of accepting the new style of the era.

"The date in the pub?" she asked. Steve nodded in confirmation, lying back so they were comfortably leaning back against the headboard. She would have been perfectly contented with going back to sleep, curled up in the warmth Steve's arms. With a smile rising to her lips, Art dragged her fingers through his blonde locks. "I had fun on that date––even if we had to pass it off as two army buddies going out for a drink."

"Well, this time around you don't have to wear a uniform," Steve laughed. Art pretended to be affronted, withdrawing a hand from his person in order to place it in the center of her chest.

"I think I made a very beautiful man in the uniform, thank you very much!"

Steve grinned and tucked hair behind her ear, settling a warm palm against her cheek once the sleep rumpled lock was pushed out of her face. Their smiles became gentle as the flirtatious teasing wound down. "I know you did. You were a very beautiful woman in that uniform, too, if I recall." Art closed the distance between them and kissed him, snaking an arm back around his neck. She felt one of Steve's hand slip over her hip to rest on her lower back, a couple of his fingers resting on the bare skin her shirt had ridden up to expose. When their lips detached, Art smiled and pressed another kiss just beside his mouth.

"I'd love to go out tonight," she murmured. She snuggled her head into the crook of Steve's neck and shut her eyes. "I'll leave the uniform at home, though…"

"That's good 'cause our new ones are kind of… how does Stark put it? _Spangly_."

Art chuckled, her smile slowly forming into an open-mouthed yawn. "Oh, god, I need coffee…" She placed another kiss against Steve's jaw and then extracted herself from his warm embrace. When she slipped off the bed, Art made sure to snag Steve's hand and pull him with her. "And I think the spangly suit works better on you than me––I'm better suited to more solid, singular colors."

"Missing your Commandos uniform?"

"Like you wouldn't understand."

OOOO

The last thing that Art had expected to do on her birthday was drive to the Cemetery of the Evergreens in Brooklyn. She had been under the impression that she and Kenneth would be going out to lunch, but he had surprised her by shoving his car keys into her hands before he told her to drive. The cemetery was more like a park, with countless trees and bushes, all of which flowered and bloomed in the spring. When the sun was shining, the cemetery was actually quite lovely; but the day had proved overcast and thick with humidity, which threatened rain. It was there that Joanne and Vernon Knoll had been buried after their deaths. It was there that Artemesia's empty grave had been placed when, in nineteen-forty-five, her death had been announced. That was where Kenneth and Art were walking towards, a bouquet of flowers clenched in Kenny's aged hand. Art had noticed he was getting slower, his age beginning to catch up to him. Her baby brother was proud, however, about the fact he could get around without a cane. There had been a joke or two about how spry he was for an old man, though not as spry as Steve. Nevertheless, Art had her arm looped through his, under the guise of an innocent, fond gesture; in actuality, she wanted to make sure he wasn't going to trip over any uneven ground.

"I have been coming here, on this day, for sixty-seven years straight. Not a year forgotten," Kenny mused with a sigh. They stopped in front of a headstone made of shining black marble; it was shaped like an obelisk, at the base of which was a set of two or three stairs. A laurel set above two crossed swords was depicted over an epitaph that gave a brief history of a the deceased's life. A name was carved into the front in large letters, which had been inlaid with gold in more recent years.

**Lt. ARTEMESIA KNOLL**

**Loving Sister, Brave Soldier, and an Inspiration to All**

**June 4, 1919 – 1945**

The date of death wasn't specified. Kenneth had told Artemesia that was because, in the letter that had informed them of her death, it hadn't told them the day. It had simply read that the army sent their condolences and that she had met her death in the line of duty. The letter had been short, as Phillips had not had the authority to tell the general public––or her family––the circumstances of her death. If Art remembered correctly, Kenneth said that Phillips had written that it had been a covert operation, the details of which were to remain classified. Two condolence letters had been sent, though––one for Lieutenant Arthur Kensington, the other for Lieutenant Artemesia Knoll. The latter had been a smidgen more personal than the first, informing Florence and Kenneth of her bravery and how much of a difference she made. Art had been unable to see the letters for herself, as Kenneth had parted with them when the Smithsonian had mentioned their interest in opening an exhibit on America's first superheroes.

"This is the second headstone," Kenny informed, waving the bouquet at it. "The first one was smaller. More… _modest_. It also only read as 'loving sister.' When it was announced to the public that the brave Howling Commandos Arthur Kensington was _actually_ the brave Howling Commando _Artemesia Knoll_, we thought it would be fitting to change it. The public actually started to demand it. The, uh, Barnes family actually threw in some money to have it changed. So did Arthur––and the rest of the Commandos, too. They even dropped by to give their condolences in person."

Numerous bouquets of flowers lay in front of it, all fresh and fragrant; a couple of letters and cards had been left, too, most of which had her name written across the front in distinctively different scrawls. Kenneth climbed the set of stairs slowly and placed his own bouquet at the base, one of his hands braced against the cold stone.

"I didn't know that," Art admitted, adjusting the collar of her cardigan. She had visited her own grave before, as knowing of its existence had spiked a sense of morbid curiosity. Kenny shoved both hands into his jacket pockets and his head tilted back so he stared up at the top of the monument.

"Well, it's true. We waited till all of the, uh, trials calmed down. We wanted you to be properly remembered––as a loving sister… a brave soldier…"

"And an inspiration to all?" Art smiled and nodded to the inscription on the stone. Her brother bobbed his head in confirmation. Her eyes slid over the monument as she joined her brother at the base of it. "Well, this is the last year you'll have to make this yearly trip."

Kenneth reached out and looped an arm over her shoulder, drawing her close to his side. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, a smile on his aged lips. "About damn time, too. It's been sixty-seven years, Artie! Why didn't you come back sooner? You would have saved me a lot of footwork," he chuckled. Art knocked her head into his shoulder in playful retaliation. She felt him jostle his arm a bit in order to lovingly shake her. "Promise you'll come and visit New York as often as you can?" Suddenly he sounded like the little Kenneth Art had left behind when she joined the military. Looking up at him, she nodded.

"Of course. I've gotta spend my birthday with _someone_, right?"

"Ah, you've got Steve. I'm sure he's more fun to spend your time with." Art rolled her eyes and bent over to pick up the notes and letters that had been left at the base of the grave. "I just… I know I'm getting up there in age, and not all of us have some super-juice inside our bodies to keep us goin'."

Art looked up sharply, eyes wide and gleaming with what could have been fear. What he'd said was true, she understood that; but it was a truth she refrained from thinking of too often. She was his older sister in years, yes, but biologically she was only twenty-six. It was heart-wrenching to acknowledge that she would live to see her little brother die. Her sweet-faced little brother who had read comics under the covers, grown into a strong man and a dedicated soldier, and had lived a life filled with happiness. Kenny's aged face was smiling down at her, and her brows pinched together in sad response.

"Don't talk like that, Kenny," she admonished, using her 'big sister' tone. That drew a smile to Kenneth's lips.

"I'm just stating fact, Artie. Now, whaddya say we get out of here? This is no place to spend your birthday. 'Sides, I'm sure that you and lover-boy have got plans later; I gotta make sure you've got enough time to doll yourself up!" Kenneth laughed happily, slipping his arm through Art's once she stood. She curled her fingers around his elbow tightly, and the chuckle that sounded in his throat let her know he knew _exactly_ why she was holding on so tight. He patted her knuckles fondly. "I'm glad you two worked out your problems. He cares about you a lot."

With a smile blooming across her face, Art nodded and rested her head against Kenny's arm. "I know."

"And I look forward to one day saying that I am related to the great Captain America." Kenny beamed cheekily and laughed heartily when Art tossed her elbow into his side none-too-gently.

"_Kenneth!_"

"We'll be the most patriotic family in America!"

"_I swear to god_, Kenneth Samuel Knoll…"

"Happy ninety-second birthday, sis!"

OOOO

The rest of the afternoon went by smoothly. She'd gotten a text from Clint––detailing messages from Laura and the kids as well––and one from Nat wishing her well, a voicemail from Bruce, a rushed phone call from both Matt and Foggy, who seemed to be rushing to get to a meeting, and––unexpectedly––a call from Tony. Each well-wish had made her day a bit better, and the skies got sunnier as the day wore on. By the time early evening had rolled around, the sky was starting to become a pale lavender and the air was pleasingly cool. Art, like Steve, had taken an hour or so to get ready, having exiled herself to what had once been her bedroom in order to do so. She had meticulously curled her hair, done her make-up, and slipped on her choice of dress and shoes. It felt like getting ready in the old days.

Growing up in the time she had, Art was accustomed to making sure her whole outfit was perfectly put together before she walked out the door. She had to look in the mirror and make sure that her dress sat just right. That her curls were perfectly brushed out so they grazed the tops of her shoulders. That her lipstick didn't overrun the natural curves of her lips. A tugged skirt hem and a hair fluff later, Art swept out of the room and made for the living room. She spotted Steve standing by the small mirror they had hung just beside the door. He was tugging at the points of his collar, trying to get it looking presentable. Art beamed and stopped by the couch, picking up the small purse she had left there.

"Well, don't you look handsome," she complimented, dropping her lipstick into the purse. Steve turned on his heel, brows raised, and stopped to stare at her. And handsome he was. Steve had done himself up in a navy blue suit jacket paired with matching slacks, the hems of which kissed shiny black Oxfords. The collar of his button down was folded over a burgundy tie, which had been expertly knotted.

"Thanks. You look… gorgeous, Artemesia," Steve said softly. A smile appeared on his lips as he stepped away from the mirror, his collar completely forgotten. Warmth rose to Art's cheeks, which she didn't bother trying to hide; she had long since accepted that Steve had made making her blush an art.

"Thank you." Two of her fingers pinched the skirt of her red dress, which she pulled away from her legs a couple of inches. "It seems we both had the same idea. If this is the first date we were _supposed_ to have…"

"Then we go back to the fashion of the forties." Steve grinned and bobbed his head, eyes dropping to the ground. He gestured to his own clothing, his grin becoming slightly lopsided. "Or as close to it as we can get."

"You forwent the vest," Art pointed out, waggling her finger at his chest. Steve leveled a finger at her head as he came to a stop in front of her.

"And you didn't pin back your hair," Steve noticed. Art shrugged her shoulders, which brushed against and disturbed her brushed out curls.

"There's still not a whole lot of it; it's decided to slow down its growth, apparently."

Steve smiled at her so sweetly for a contentedly quiet moment, eyes glimmering softly in the living room's lamplight. It was the sweetest look she had ever been given. It harkened back to a time long since passed, a time that felt homey and nostalgic. There was no evidence of the worried crease that so often worked its way between Steve's brows; he looked younger. Then, like he had done earlier, he reached behind his back and produced something from––presumably––his back pocket. His fingers had curled into a fist around something that Art was sure wasn't another chocolate bar.

"Kenny gave this to me, said you might like to have it." With his curled fist extended, he then extended his fingers to reveal what sat in his palm. It was a familiar rectangular locket, the front of which was engraved with flowers; it hung from a time weathered chain, links of which had started to rust. "It was your Aunt Florence's, but I'm sure I don't need to tell you that." Art eagerly took the jewelry from his palm smiling down at the worn metal as she recalled the woman who wore it.

"She kept pictures of Kenny and I in this––embarrassing photos, really…" Art recalled.

"Kenny mentioned that those had been removed a long time ago––something about… water damage from it being stored in a basement. We figured that you'd probably want to choose the photo to go inside, so it's still empty." Art wedged her thumbnail into the space where either side of the locket met and pried it open gently. Sure enough, the locket was empty. After clicking it shut, she replaced the necklace she had been wearing with the vintage piece she had been given.

"Thank you, this is lovely." With a palm remaining pressed over it, Art smiled at Steve; it was a smile so bright and happy that it was infectious. "So, what are we doing tonight?"

"I thought that we could go see a movie. We're a bit too dressed up for it, but…" He shrugged and shoved both hands in his pockets, looking endearingly sheepish. Art slipped her arm through Steve's, squeezing it with a smile playing across her lips.

"I think we're perfectly dressed for anything you have planned."

Steering her towards the door, Steve grinned and pocketed the keys to their apartment. "Well, that's good, 'cause I've got a couple things planned."

OOOO

Like Steve had said, they were a bit too dressed up to go see a movie, but they had enjoyed it none the less. All of the looks cast their way fueled their laughter and good mood, taking none of the stares to heart. With grins on their lips they had proceeded to get dinner, stopping at the diner that Kenny had taken Steve to a couple of weeks prior; Art hadn't been back since before the war, and the elated look on her face had been priceless. After realizing that the menu practically hadn't changed, she ordered by heart, beaming the whole time. The order had been fairly large, and at the waiter's incredulous stare, Steve laughed and attempted to hide it behind his hand. The evening had been planned so that the activities they did could have possibly been done had they not crashed into the ice. It was like taking a tiny step back in time in the best way possible. They were creating the moments they should have had once the war had ended, perfectly fitted into the life they now had.

Steve had then suggested they take an evening stroll through Central Park, remarking how lovely the weather was. On their walk there, Art had been given Steve's jacket to keep her warm from the slight chill. The oversized jacket hung loosely over her shoulders, but it provided just the right amount of warmth she needed. It was one of the best evenings of her life; she didn't think she had smiled so much in almost a year. Her fingers were threaded through Steve's, creating a tight lock that didn't loosen a bit as they walked. The night, while it seemed to be planned on the go, had clearly been the opposite––it had been meticulously planned by the blonde haired captain who was leading her to the park. Just as they were about to cross the street, Art shuffled to a stop when Steve held out an arm. They had stopped on the curb for seemingly no reason, especially seeing as there was no traffic whatsoever in the through street.

"What is it?" she asked, tucking hair behind her ear. Steve, with a cute, boyish smile, gestured to the edge of the street, where a sizable puddle resided. It was muddy looking and a couple of nicotine stained cigarette butts floated across it like little boats.

"There's a puddle," he pointed out. Art arched an eyebrow and cast the puddle a second, disregarding look. It wasn't terribly large, and it would be easy to walk around, so it didn't pose an obstacle or challenge.

"And…?"

"_And _I'm not going to let you walk through it. _I_ am going to carry you across." Art laughed quietly, turning to face him square-on.

"Steve, people don't do that anymore. In fact, I don't know if people _ever _did that; that seems like something out of the movies," Art mentioned. She'd seen men lay their coats down across puddles for ladies to walk over, but she had never seen someone––besides, perhaps, a child––be carried over a puddle.

Steve scooped her up into his arms, holding her to his chest gallantly. Art had wound her arms around his neck tightly in surprise, having squeaked when the ground seemed to have disappeared from under her. She laughed as she looked over at Steve. He was smiling charmingly as he stepped off the curb and walked her through the puddle and across the street.

"Well, aren't you a regular knight in shining armour," Art laughed lovingly.

"Can't have my best gal getting her feet wet," Steve replied, grinning like there was no tomorrow. Art pressed a lingering kiss to his warm cheek, her eyes falling shut. Every time Steve called her his best gal, her heart fluttered and she felt just that little bit more breathless. It was a nickname he'd taken to covertly using once he had gotten used to the idea she was a woman and not a man. It had evolved from 'right hand gal' to 'best gal' somewhere along the way. The name had become progressively more affectionate, till he murmured it with such love in his voice that it made both their hearts ache. Art often lamented she had no such name to call him, though there was still a lifetime to find one for him.

Art was set back on her feet when they reached the other side of the street, which was bathed in the light of a street lamp. She immediately intertwined their fingers as they began to walk again. They strolled down the curving paths, which were illuminated by the towering lamps that dotted the walkways. Had there been more stars to gaze at, she would have tugged Steve out into one of the park's grassy expanse to stare at the twinkling lights. But contentedly strolling through the cool night air was just as fitting and relaxing. While they walked, Art lifted their clasped hands to her lips, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve's knuckles. She shut her eyes and let him lead her blindly, his hand still held to her mouth. Both had often reiterated the fact they were glad the other had gone into the ice with them; how lucky they were they had each other to explore a new world together. That evening had been one of the moments that reminded Art of that luck. She and Steve had fought Nazis, HYDRA agents, and aliens together. They had stormed beaches side-by-side during World War II, and they had teamed up together to eradicate the otherworldly invaders. They had been through every manner of situation together, they had run through the course of every emotion, and there was still so much more they could do.

"This birthday was one of the best I've celebrated––all because of you. Thank you, Steve," she murmured, slowly bringing their hands to hang between them. Steve squeezed her fingers and, when she looked up at him, she found that he was smiling at her gently. Both his brows arched over sparkling blue eyes.

"You're welcome. Besides, it's not every day that a girl turns ninety-two," he commented cheekily. Art snorted at the mention of her age and rolled her eyes skyward.

"You don't turn ninety-three until next month, so we're both the same age now, bozo. Besides, I think I look fantastic for ninety-two." Art pretended to preen in a self-absorbed manner, fluffing her hair and holding her nose in the air all hoity-toity-like. Steve laughed, head tilting backwards as his eyes crinkled shut.

"And I don't?"

"I thought I saw you getting wrinkles around your nose…" Art teased, narrowing her eyes up at him. Steve jutted his lower lip out and put on a sulky face; the expression didn't live long and was replaced by a laugh induced grin.

"Laugh lines, Knoll, laugh lines! _You're_ to blame for those!" Steve shot back. Art laughed and shook her head, hair fluttering around her face and shoulders.

"Just kidding you, Rogers––there isn't an age line on your perfectly handsome face."

Just as they rounded a curve in the path, they came across a man playing saxophone under one of the lamps. The case was open at his feet and crumpled up bills from those passing by sat inside. As they approached him, Art could feel herself taking the lead as they walked; Steve had slowed down till he had completely stopped, the tug on her hand stopping her in turn. After pivoting on her heel, Art was greeted with the sight of Steve, once again, beaming in her direction. He nodded to the man playing saxophone and then inclined his head to her in a silent suggestion.

"Wanna dance?" he asked. Art's look of mild confusion shifted to become a grin, which had become his silent answer. With a tug, Steve drew Art close enough to slip place a hand at the small of her back. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gazed up at him with an infectious smile.

"I would love to," she replied softly. With that said, Steve took the initiative and started the dance. The movements were neither too slow or too fast, fitting with the song that the saxophonist was playing. Art's skirt flared out around her legs whenever they turned or spun, causing a brilliant swirl of red to cut through the air. Steve's movements were confident and decided, not nearly as timid as they had been when Art had started teaching him all of those weeks ago. Beaming up at him as they twirled, her brows pulled together in a questioning look that was marred by her smile. "Have you been practicing?"

"I have, yes," Steve confirmed with a grin. He released her waist in order to spin her around, which made her giggle and also caused his jacket to fall to the ground. With a simple flick of his foot, Steve cast the item of clothing aside, clearing their makeshift dance floor so they could continue to move.

In Art's opinion, their dance in the park beat any dane they could have shared in a forties dance hall or club. They weren't being watched or glanced at by dozens of eyes, which made the moment incredibly personal. It was everything she would have wanted out of the dance Steve had promised to have with her whilst the plane had crashed. It erased her worries of the future and the past and urged her to enjoy the moment she was in; and that was exactly what she did. Art relished the cool evening air that brushed over her arms and threaded through her hair. It was a coolness that prompted her to seek out the gentle warmth of Steve's body, which brought her close enough to him to smell the cologne he had put on before they'd left the apartment. Steve grinned down at her in response to the grin that she had been directing up at him as they twirled and moved about. In that moment it was just them. There was no threat of alien invasion to make their chests burn in panic, no world-threatening situation that made them worn out and tired. They could simply revel in each other's loving company and _enjoy it_. For once, they looked towards the future with eyes brighter than they had been for a year––because the future, for the first time in a long time, seemed brighter than it had once been.

_**Afterword:**_ _**And that concludes the Avengers portion of Artie and Steve's story! I thought it was important to get in their first date, even if I didn't detail it too much––there'll be more detailed dates later on, I promise! I just think it's time to move into events that will set up and lead into Winter Soldier, my all-time-favorite Marvel film! I really hope that you all enjoyed the chapter, which I figured I should post on Artie's birthday, 'cause that's just fitting, right?**_

_**Review Replies!**_

**grapejuice101:** _Winter Soldier is up next! I have so many plans and I cannot wait till you get to read them. I'm literally so excited. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**Nik1804:** _I've officially seen Civil War four times and I have no regrets. Each time I get another idea––or potential idea––and I find more little nuances and things I didn't notice before. Baking was totally something Artie really liked to do prior to joining the military, and I believe that there is always cookies or something of that sort in their apartment because she just has this love for making pastries and stuff. And those details really do make characters seem more realistic––they're not just heroes, archers, soldiers, inventors, former assassins, doctors etc.. They're people. I love writing those little details, it's a lot of fun. Prepare for more gooey feels regarding Bucky coming up, as he will appear sooner rather than later… :) Bucky and Art's relationship/dynamic is probably one of my favorites to write between any characters I've ever written. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Rubyia:** _Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**weasleylover10:** _StArt moments are so fun to write, and getting to write almost strictly StArt moments in this chapter was an absolute blast! It was also relatively difficult because I've not had the chance to delve into their romantic dynamic, as they haven't had the chance or time to do so. I just had to keep thinking about Steve's dopey/adorable little smile. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**darck ben:** _I'm glad you enjoyed the previous chapter and hope you enjoyed this one as well! Thanks again!_

**heroherondaletotherescue:** _Artie isn't one to let hospitality/a favor go unpaid. The least she would have done is help out around the farm. I'm glad the apology scene read well! It was grueling to write, but I'm thrilled that it did what I wanted it to do (be fulfilling and cute and all that jazz). I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**GreenEcho:** _I will post a note when the next story is up, don't worry! I wouldn't leave you hanging. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**alexachuPEW:** _I am incredibly flattered that this is one of your fave Cap/OC stories! I'm always very happy when someone enjoys my stories so much to the point of considering them the favorite in a category. And I've always adored Steve and I equally adore writing him. Because there really is so much more to him than just 'the super soldier.' He's someone who struggles to adjust to modern life and fights with who he is, something many people struggle with. And in contemplating which side Artie would be on in Civil War, I can see her siding (at least for a time) with Tony. I had initially just been like 'oh, yeah, she's with Cap on this,' but then I gave it a good think. I don't think she'd be with him all the way, but, like you said, swap sides by the end of it all. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**The girl with no life:** _Sam and Bucky's relationship is gold and perfection and I love it to bits. I want more of them interacting in future films, because… god it was amazing. Just as she gets back to New York, she's headed off to DC, which holds many an adventure for her! I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**The Redshirt who Lived:** _I definitely will write his reaction, 'cause that'll be priceless! I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**anonymouscsifan:** _Both Artie and Steve struggling to be two people––themselves and heroes––will be a continuing struggle. But they've got each other, so that load will be lessened a little bit; they'll help each other out along the way. I hope that you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks again!_

**Jo:** _It's totally fine! Computers are temperamental and like to do wacky things to annoy us. They'll definitely still be working out their tensions and whatnot, but they'll be doing it in healthier ways than arguing. They really don't get a lot of time to be with each other, which was why I really wanted to have this chapter be a thing––to start exploring what their romantic dynamic is, to let them have a moment to just be themselves. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**KMB:** _I was definitely not letting Artie walk away from the fight without taking part of the blame for the fight. She was, afterall, the one who prompted the argument by prodding Steve. I am very, very happy that you've been enjoying the story and, in turn, Artie. I love writing her and am impossibly happy that you enjoy reading her. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Protocol9:** _I do plan on continuing this into Civil War, and I have started to consider what side she'll be on. I had initially just said 'she's team Cap,' but then I realized her reasoning wouldn't be that singular or sound. She's going to have an interesting stance, I think on the fight. I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again!_

**Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967:** _I'm glad you loved it! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter; thanks again!_

_**And thank you to those that have added this story to their follows/favorites; it means a lot!**_

_**Over the course of writing this chapter I started to think about what Artie's life would have been like if she hadn't gone into the ice with Steve––like how she would deal with life post-war and being inevitably discovered as a woman who had snuck into the armed ranks. How she probably would have worked with Peggy and met Jarvis and how Howard would insist they hang out on the regular… I think it would make a great AU story :) **_

_**Also, random little fun fact, Artie's prefered makeup brand is Bésame (which happens to be **__**my**_ _**favorite makeup brand). All of their makeup is authentically vintage (running from the 1910's to the 1950's) and I think that Artie' totally takes solace in their familiarity. Also, the lipstick that Peggy wears in Agent Carter is made by that brand, so, that's pretty awesome.**_

_**That's that for this portion of the story! I cannot thank all of you enough for sticking with this story! Whether it was from when I first posted the Dawn of Change, or if you stumbled on the stories whilst they were in progress––thank you! I adore writing this story, and your enthusiasm for reading the chapters and guessing what's going to happen gives me that extra dose of encouragement to keep on writing it! As I always do, I'll post a note to let you know when the next portion of the story is up so you can go on and start reading the next portion of Artie and Steve's story. Next up is the Winter Soldier… hold onto your butts, the feels are a'comin'!**_

_**~Mary**_


	27. Announcement

**_Announcement!_**

The first chapter for the next installment of this story, titled Living Ghosts, has been published! So, if you'd like to give it a read, head on over and check it out! Obviously you can find it on my profile, but should you wish to search for it on the archive, it'll be in the Capt. America section, not the Avengers one. I hope you all enjoy the start of Art and Steve's next adventure!

~Mary


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